Read the Last Page First
by SkyeMoor
Summary: Hilarious Romantic Comedy ensues out of an unexpected arrangement that neither party knows about. Love and laughter and light, this story will delight!
1. Chapter 1

"Will you marry me, Herm?" the blond asked, on bended knee.

"Not now, silly! Will you marry me later, Dray?" the brownhaired girl asked, sitting on his knee.

"Yes."

Nearby, two people heard the conversation and had incredibly dissimilar reactions. The black-haired woman smiled peacefully, enjoying the summer breeze and the children's play. Professor Snape, however, had seen one thing that the woman hadn't, the magical bond forming between the two. His normally parchment colored face had paled to snow white - and then to the colorless sheen of ice. Two children, betrothed - and Draco was only five. _Shite_. How in _hell_ was he going to explain this to the Malfoys? Still, he'd best see to the girl's mother, first. For one thing, she had no idea her child was a witch. Or that what they had done was both unheard of, and rather magically enforced. For god's sake! There were reasons that magical families got their children engaged as soon as possible. Cradling his head in his hands for a moment, Professor Snape organized himself, and stood up to talk with the girl's mother.

"Lovely child you've got there" he said, his voice soft as a purr.

"Oh, yes, well, yours is a real handful, isn't he?"

"Oh, he's my godson. I haven't ever really..." Snape stumbled over his words.

"Oh? They play so wonderfully together..."

 _If only!_ "You heard what they said?"

"Yes, I think Herm just watched the Princess' wedding on TV, that must be where she gets it from."

"Well, she must like Dray very much... I'm afraid they weren't just pretending right now."

"What... what do you mean?"

"Some people are able to harness energies around us, the lifeforce if you will, that flows through every living thing."

"You mean like Ki?" She asked, "I always did like those martial arts films..."

"Mostly. Here, it means they made an unbreakable promise."

"They're? They're going to have to get married?"

"At some point. Luckily, your daughter was too smart to accept his initial proposal."

"That would have been binding too?"

"I'm... not sure. It works based on intent."

"Oh, well, luckily for them, they didn't put a timelimit on it."

"Luckily," Snape agreed with a crisp nod. "Dray, it's time to go. You need to talk with your parents. It's important." Dray ran over towards Snape, grabbing his hand. Herm's brown eyes followed both of them out of the park.

* * *

Lucius' hand was twitching, his wand out as he stared in horror at his old _former_ friend. "You took my son to play at a muggle park?"

"It was close by, and he needs some exercise." Professor Snape said, his unflappable manner telling all and sundry exactly how agitated he was. Snape was generally a man for yelling and screaming even in the best of times. A quiet Snape, a _guilty_ Snape, meant trouble.

Narcissa tugged at some of her lacework, saying, "He really proposed to her? A muggleborn?"

"Yes, though I'm not sure why."

"How often had you seen the girl?"

"Often enough, maybe once a week, something like that..."

"At least our son isn't a complete airbrain." Lucius' tone left little doubt as to who he thought was the real airbrain.

"We can't tell him!" Narcissa stomped her little slippered foot.

"You need to at least tell him he's engaged." Snape pointed out quiet as an owl's strike. "Just don't tell him to whom."

"This is all highly irregular. I don't believe you managed to find the one muggleborn in the entire west of King Albert's Isle!"

"It happened. Protesting it now doesn't change anything. I told her mother too, so at least she'll know."

"We can't let him go back there again, he'll pick up disgusting habits!" Narcissa said.

"Her parents may not want him to see her again, I'm afraid I wasn't terribly specific about magic."

[a/n: Read and review, or the story gets it. Any similarities to Kanon will end shortly. This will not be a harem comedy. Review twice if you want to see Professor Snape crossdress.]


	2. Enter the Snape

12 Grimmauld Place was a gloomy place at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times. There was a war on, after all, and half the time it was crammed full of people. Then again, only Ron Weasley was actually used to dealing with crowded environs. Potter and Granger and even Snape were only children, and McGonagall was full of a cat's definition of personal space. Worse, Weasley and Granger were fighting, again. That would have been bad enough, if it wasn't effecting Potter whose control over his emotions was notably worse than usual. A nd the noise itself, if nothing else, was irritating Snape.

As Snape appeared at the top of the ghastly, rickety staircase, his quick eyes noted that Granger was bawling her eyes out, her entire face concealed by her bushy hair, as she buried her face in the couch. And where was Ron? Probably sulking, as was his wont. Snape, who never cared to pry about personal matters, wasn't even entirely sure that they were dating, rather than simply two sulky, petulant teenagers who fancy each other far too much to actually tell each other about their feelings. _Not that I'd know anything about that, of course. At least_ _ **I**_ _was quiet about it!_

In Snape's chillest tone, he purred, razors peeking out of every word, "Ah, Miss Granger. One would have thought you would have chosen better than Ronald Weasley. In fact, you already have."

Hermione, always quick to jump to a mystery - thus serving as an effective distraction from drowning the couch in lacrymony, raised her head. Swallowing a moment or two, and wiping her eyes, _some instinct of hers demanding composure when talking to a Professor, no doubt_. Hermione Granger asked levely, "Why, what do you mean, Professor Snape?"

"Why, did no one tell you you're engaged?" Snape asked, his riposte striking home far harsher than intended - and that was saying something, as Snape was not known for mincing words.

Hermione Granger had got quite pale, her back stiffening, as she went through pages of memories, neatly stored in books in her mind. "No, I can't say that anyone's mentioned it..."

Abruptly, Snape was recalculating. Had he been in less of a laconic mood (or not positioned expertly at the top of the stairs, and reluctant to give up the high ground to a potentially question-spouting student), he might have paced. Things were snapping into place - _nothing_ he knew of Granger would give him the impression that she would cheat, particularly without trying to meet her intended first. Reluctantly, he came to the simple, if cutting, conclusion that she couldn't have _known_.

Absentmindedly, almost idly, Professor Snape said to her, simply, "You might ask your parents." He then waited until her eyes lit up (it was just a moment, after all), and her mouth opened, teeming with unspoken questions, before he said, "I'm afraid I have business of a personal nature to attend to. If you will excuse me..." _I'd better_ _ **remind**_ _the Muggle Grangers of what I told Mrs. Granger, years upon years ago. If Hermione confronts her parents, and they know nothing, this will become even more difficult._

Hermione's mouth snapped shut, her hands fumbling for a piece of paper, her fingers closing down on a pen. _What was going on, and what was she supposed to do?_ Nearly unnoticed, Professor Snape strode down the stairs, his robes billowing impressively as he exited the house entirely. Moments later, in an abandoned ally, he apparated away to the Granger's residence.

[a/n: read and review! Severus Snape is a great plot device. For such a sneaky snake, one is almost surprised he let something this big slip through his thin, pursed lips.]


	3. Should have been should have done

That matter of personal business just so happened to be Hermione Granger's personal business, and not Severus Snape's. But then again, Severus was a master at lying with the truth, as well as vice versa. Stepping out of the house, he apparated to Hogwarts, needing the address to the Grangers'. It was the work of moments to infiltrate Minerva's study. _Blast it, I told her to fix the damn wards._

A soft cough from behind him announced that Deputy Headmistress Minerva had indeed strengthened the wards. Severus scanned the page for a moment, committing the Grangers' address to memory, before slowly turning around. It wouldn't do to look surprised, after all - nevermind that Minerva's presence was unexpected. "Just what are you doing breaking into my private study, Severus Snape?"

"Completing a task that I had thought complete years ago." Severus said smoothly, his voice, as always purring quietly.

 _Blast!_ Minerva thought, looking Severus up and down. He had a look to him, that in his adolescence she would have termed sulky and obstinate. Now, it was more obstinate mixed with stubborn determination. When Severus had that look to him, he was unlikely to spill even a hint... and she could keep him here all day and all night, and be just as in the dark as when she started... albeit if she nodded off, he'd have her trussed and in a closet and be gone about his business all the quicker.

Severus' keen eyes caught the moment of recognition, the acceptance that Severus Snape intended to be closemouthed today... "It is a matter of some urgency, Minerva. Until we meet again." Severus said abruptly, his lack of manners only mildly counterbalanced by the quick bow (nearly a nod) he graced her with, before striding past her, his robes billowing as always.

Two by two, he took the stairs, down to the first floor, and then deep in the dungeons, to a place where one might apparate without being observed. Spin once, spin twice, spin thrice, and he was at the Grangers, studying the well-kept manse. A woman walking by nearly bumped into Severus, and as she exclaimed "Excuse me!" she was suddenly tugging at his robe, "You're dressed kind of funny ain't you? This isn't halloween."

"Merely getting a bit of practice in before the church play." Severus said with a small smile, his tone gracious. Taking one last look at the dwelling, he strode up to the door, knocking sharply. Luckily, it was a Sunday. Otherwise, it would be more awkward, and there was always the chance they wouldn't be home.

The instant the door opened, Severus' heart plummeted like a stone. _That was NOT the person I explained this to!_ "Mrs. Granger, I presume? I'm here to talk about your daughter's behavior."

"Oh, you're from her school! Come in - come in! I do hope she hasn't been any trouble!" Mrs. Granger bubbled, reminding Snape of some sort of helpful, pleasant Hufflepuff. _If I squint, maybe I can see sparkles too._

Snape purred, "of course." _Of course she hoped that her daughter wasn't any trouble. It was a rare parent who hoped for a troublemaker. Thank god Black had never managed to procreate successfully._

"Sit down, sit down, and tell me what our little girl's done now. Is it an award?" Mrs. Granger continued to prattle on.

 _Oh, you might call it that, yes, indeed, you might_. "I was hoping to talk with you about an incident involving your daughter."

"An incident!? Is she in trouble! Is she hurt?"

"This incident happened some time ago, over ten years ago."

"Oh, but she wasn't at your school then - did she do something absolutely beastly? ghastly? horrid? I always thought she was a well-behaved, mannerly girl!"

"You may have already heard of this, but I'll tell it again. Your daughter engaged herself to be married... at the age of five. In a playground."

"But she was just... a child! Surely that's not...binding, is it?"

"Under ordinary circumstances, no... but I'm sure you know exactly how unique your child is. " Severus Snape ran his sallow hand through his lanky hair, as he looked down briefly. "What ought to have been merely playtime was complicated by magic."

"What happened to my daughter?"

"She was formally engaged to be married, and it was bound and witnessed by magic itself."

"Is there nothing that can be done about this?"

"I'm...not entirely sure. This is not exactly a normal circumstance, in the Wizarding World. In fact, most parents take rather drastic steps to avoid the hand of fate in this matter, often betrothing children before they reach puberty."

"So you're saying that my daughter promised her hand in marriage to someone she met on the playground?!"

"I'm afraid so." Severus Snape purred, his voice firm and unyielding.

"What does the Wizarding World have to say about divorce?""Generally legally acceptable, not entirely socially acceptable, although..." here Severus lowered his voice, "if I may, your daughter doesn't seem the type to care."

"Well, you're right about that at least." Mrs. Granger said, mentally recalling a brief conversation with a babysitter years upon years ago, about a weird, gangly man who had told her that Hermione was now engaged. Idly, she wondered if this was that particular man.

"How did you come by this information?" Mrs. Granger asked suddenly.

"I was there... but, please, don't tell your daughter that."

"Why not?"

"Some mysteries are better left dark, at least for the moment, and I'm well aware of your daughter's incessant curiosity."

"Will you at least tell me who she's engaged to? It is a boy, I hope?"

"Yes, a boy. But, as I just said, some things are better left as mysteries..." Severus' mouth twisted in some strange caricature of a closemouthed smile. "Until we meet again, adieu." Snape stood and strode out the front door before Mrs. Granger could even get a word out.

[a/n: Severus, severus, severus. Talking to the babysitter instead of the mother is such a noob mistake.

Folks, I'm not going to write Malfoy and Granger into a permanent marriage because of something they did when they were five. That's not only ridiculous, it's lazy writing. Also, in keeping with the way the Sainted Author wrote the books (or at least how I assume she did), consummation is not required for marriage. Merely proof of consummation. (anyone familiar with how hymens were forged will understand the difference).

Read and review, my pretties!]


	4. Sabra Prickles

Severus Snape was wakeful, staring up at the ceiling of his chambers. Deep in a corner of his mind that he hadn't want to look at, an idea was emerging. A pesky, _irritating_ idea. Oh, Severus Snape was not a self-righteous man, not one of those Men of Conscience. As far as he was concerned, he had no conscience, no angel on his shoulder whispering him of the good path. He hadn't suffered much from the lack, either. As a child, he hadn't even had an imaginary friend. No, he didn't even have McGonagall's strict Sense of Fairness chiding him on his way. What Severus Snape had instead, was a Sense of Mischief, and it was prickling. There was something he hadn't done, that he ought to do, and that would provide _endless amusement_. And that thought skittered around his brain, bothering him. They were in the middle of a war, if one that had gone frigid. This was particularly not the time for his sense of humor, which tended toward the dark and twisted. The Dark, ah, now _there_ was a thought! Peruvian Darkness Powder! Endless uses, though he'd hardly be Slytherin if anyone suspected him. Or even realized he had _ever_ visited that infernal store!

No, his mind told him, you're getting distracted, again. Ah, well, he reassured his phlegmatic self (what little of it remained, he seemed prone to choleric fits of temper around Potter, and most of the brats), you're safe enough here.

Slowly, he relaxed, each muscle in turn, leaving himself floating on a cushion of darkness (or so his imagination conjured). Where was that thought? It was going to bedevil him thoroughly unless he brought it out into the light and dealt with it once and for all! So thinking, he began to stalk through his days, the picture of a predator on the hunt.

Suddenly, he froze, looking at Granger, she of the endless curiosity, her eyes burning with a thousand questions he would squelch with a mere sentence. _It starts here._ And, sitting like the Thinker, he began to cogitate on the possibilities. _Ah, Draco, is it? Maybe, possibly, I ought to tell him something!_ "Just a dollop of poison helps the medicine go down!" Snape chuckled wryly at the apt, fresh-forged rhyme.

Inside his mind, skeins of threads unfolded, laying down a crazy quilt of ideas. For when imparting knowledge to Slytherins, it was important to think through all the ramifications and echoes. Slowly he began to lay down the warp, pulling a mischevious bit from here, sowing a bit of doubt from there. And then there was the weft, Snathe smooth and easy, if patrician, kindness. Not that Draco Malfoy would be fooled... but he'd lend more weight to Snape's words if they weren't shouted at him. But this could surely wait until tommorrow, couldn't it?

* * *

With a steady voice, Severus Snape said, "Malfoy Manor" reflecting in his head exactly how gauche the place often seemed, a ramshackle piece of work strung together out of a thousand whims and fancies. Rather like Versailles, now that he thought about it, actually.

When he arrived in the Malfoy's _Welcoming Parlor_ , a house elf popped her head out from a corner, and said, "Master Snape! You weren't expected. Who shall I tender your regards to?" Snape reflected wryly that it had probably taken Narcissa simply _ages_ to convince the elf to talk like that. Oh, it wasn't that they didn't understand, merely that they liked to behave like children. Severus had little patience for brats, and less for three hundred year old children. "Draco Malfoy, if he's in. Lucius if he's not." Rather than sitting in any of the artfully arranged furniture, Snape stood and looked out the window, the sun seeming almost intangible on the immaculate green.

"Godfather, what an unusual pleasure!" Draco Malfoy appeared, his still young face aiming to ape his father's graceful elegance.

"Indeed. I have a passing fancy to see what Narcissa's done with the gardens this year; will you accompany me?" Severus Snape asked. It was a transparent ruse, and deservedly so. While a Potion Master had a considerable interest in magical plants, Narcissa's gardens were simply roses, and those had specific, limited uses. Also, if he really wanted to see the gardens, why not ask Narcissa along? No, it was as plain as the rather prominent nose on his face, Snape wanted young Draco to speak with him, and in a place they'd be unlikely to be interrupted... or eavesdropped upon.

"Of course." Draco Malfoy inserted smoothly, his body turning towards the way to the gardens. "I hope you are recovering from Hogwarts?"

"The students, in particular, as always. I'm certain you've noticed my patience grows longer the farther we get from classes."

"Of course. With Longbottom in your class, it's a wonder there's a classroom left!"

"Not for lack of trying." Severus replied. With his long strides, Snape's walk took them to the garden with nary an interruption, which was a happy coincidence. Severus Snape had _not_ wanted to run into Lucius, or _god forbid_ , Narcissa. Bad enough to have to socialize, to pretend a tolerant demeanor that all knew was a simple, easily shreaded veneer.

As they walked through the gardens, Snape allowed them to get a decent ways out, before he said a word of consequence, and even then, it was a gossamer strand, easily mistaken for idle chit-chat. His godson knew better, of course, but it was always safest to keep in practice. One never knew when one would be compelled to interact with Gryffindors...

"Have your parents told you anything about your intended?" Snape smoothly asked, his inquisitive voice a rumble just verging on a purr.

"No, nothing. Why do you ask?"

"You're old enough now, surely, to know something, don't you think?"

"What I think doesn't matter, now, does it? Of course every child thinks they're an adult before their time. It's the nature of things." Draco's words felt like an echo of his father's, though his father had never had such a thought in his life.

"Perhaps, perhaps not, I might could be persuaded to bring forth a few pearls of wisdom."

"Oh, is that so?" Draco Malfoy visibly considered what his godfather was saying. "For favors future or present, I would like to hear what you say."

 _Typical uncautious adolescent, promising without looking first. Oh, not at my words, but at the favor I might ask. Perhaps I should make it a worthwhile favor, or even a costly one, simply to teach him to be less trusting._ "I remember when you were first bethrothed, your parents were quite upset."

"Upset? How...! What...?!" Malfoy sputtered, as Snape leaned discretely away from the spittle. _It's never the obvious, little one._

"Think about it..." Snape purred.

"But... but! Was it some sort of old promise? Something they _had_ to do? I'm... I'm not betrothed to a _Weasley_ , am I?"

"No, not a Weasely" _Had Draco been paying more attention, he would have caught the amusement dwelling in the depths of Snape's baritone rumble. The confusion on Draco Malfoy's face was simply priceless. Still, he's not going to figure out a thing unless I give him at least one more hint._ "Who's to say that they really had anything to do with it at all?"

Draco Malfoy looked like he had swallowed an eel, and that it was still sickeningly wriggling around in his stomach. Weakly, he said, "But... but that's practically _unheard_ of..."

Deciding to leave Draco Malfoy to his contemplation, Snape smoothly shifted the conversation onto Quiddich - it gave him an excuse to watch over the young lad, and neither of them cared enough to give the conversation their full attention.

Safely home, Snape smiled, as he tumbled into his quarters at Hogwarts. _I even managed to miss Narcissa. Wonders shall never cease._

[a/n: I simply adore Snape. He's given Draco a bunch to think about... Write me a review, and I'll write more on this story.

Author: Severus, you are such a fickle friend.

Severus: It's more amusing this way.

Author: Oh, I know, believe me, I know.]


	5. What was Snape thinking?

Draco Malfoy was thinking. Well, perhaps brooding would be a better term for it, truly. He sat, ankles crossed, in the gazebo out in his mother's gardens (they were really the Malfoy Gardens, but if anyone else so much as touched a rose... he knew better than to get on his mother's bad temper, it was legendary). _Severus Snape_ had said something to him, and that always bore more consideration than practically anything anyone else might do.

But, first, Draco had to figure out what _exactly_ Snape had said. In his mind, he made a list:

1) You're old enough to know something now (which had the implication that when he was younger, he either didn't or shouldn't or couldn't have heard - or was it listened? - or understood?)...

2) Your parents were upset about the match (now, this had possibilities! Endless possibilities, which Draco hadn't half gotten done exploring before Snape practically pointed at one of them...)

3) His parents hadn't much to do with his betrothal.

The third was the one that bore most thinking over. It went without saying that it could have been his grandparents... or that a cunning ruse could have forced their hand. But, he thought, standing up and chucking a stone into the pond which rippled as the stone sank without a skip, _I think I'm missing something_.

There was one other thing bothering him, after all, and that had been the impish look in Severus Snape's eyes as he took his leave. _I've become inveigled in one of Snape's plots. Why am I not more bothered by that?_

Striding back towards the house (his legs taking on the aspect of Snape's longer ones, as his impatience got the better of him), Draco Malfoy was already considering which terrible tomes (a childish nickname, even if sometimes accurate. Some of the tomes liked to scream under their chains, after all) he would need to consult.

And, his hand nearly on the veranda's door, he suddenly came to a full stop. _Betrothal announcements_ were published in the paper, weren't they? Now all he needed was to look at the Daily Prophet... Oh, it wasn't like the elder Malfoys could be bothered to keep back volumes... but Zambini's mother was a high-flying socialite who loved all the flattery, all the oohs and aaahs over the rich and famous (like herself!). She'd have kept the entire history of the Daily Prophet, if she could, and was fond of referencing some of the more fatuous articles. _You thank people for compliments because they're supposed to be lies_ was a saying she had been fond of.

Tommorrow, then, Draco thought, as he turned and grabbed a broom, wanting to purge his mind of all longranging thoughts, and simply sink into the pure joy that was flight.

[a/n: Read and review, my pretties! This'll be the first of a few chapters in which Draco tries to figure out what is _really_ going on.]


	6. A Conversation, of sorts

Hermione Granger had never heard such a STUPID thing in her life! And knowing both Ron and Harry, that was saying something! Snape had ... implied, said, whatever, that she was betrothed! Of all the STUPID, Archaic things! And he had said it like it was obvious, like anyone might know of it. Had everyone been laughing behind her back? Oh, gods! Had Ron _known_?

And then, in some dark corner of her mind, a different thought unfolded. What if Severus Snape was _wrong_? he was a Slytherin, he might have lied! Or been mistaken, or - and here she stopped herself. He was clearly _not_ the person to talk to about this. Her parents _cared_ about her, after all. Or at least, she thought they did. There were only so many juvenile book readings you could go to, after all, without getting bored out of your skull. And her father had taken her to every single one.

No, it was not time to think of Snape, merely how to get out of this stupid mausoleum (Grimmald Place was grim indeed!), and give her parents a telephone call. Or visit in person. This was not the sort of thing she'd trust to an owl. Besides, she wanted to see her parents reactions.

With a sigh, she laid down on the couch to rest, knowing that in the morning, she'd be finding a way to have a _conversation_.

As she stepped down the stairs, traipsing out into the kitchen, Hermione Granger was not at all surprised to find Severus Snape absent. Like a cat, he had the trick of showing up at the most inconvenient times, and disdained normalcy at all costs. She rather thought he took his coffee early, when he was here, and ate in his room - or the study. Tonks, on the other hand, was sitting at the table, bright and cheerful as the noonday sun. "Hermione! Glad you're up! Wotcher?"

Hermione fought not to wince, managing it just barely. Tonks' cheerfulness was infectious, most days, but today Hermione felt awful, and immune to the infection too. "I need to call my parents... it's rather urgent. I need to talk to them about something..." Hermione fought to not fidget, and lost the fight, her hands twisting her skirt behind her back. Hopefully Tonks wouldn't notice. Hermione should have known better, as she looked at Tonks' knowing grin.

"What's this about, Hermione?" Tonks asked, her manner so blunt and open that it didn't seem to matter that she was essentially asking for schoolyard gossip. What Parvati or Lavender would have given galleons to hear, at that!

"Family business, I'm afraid." Hermione said quietly, her mouth wanting to grind out the words. _I bloody hope not!_ Because Hermione Granger would do anything, give anything for Snape to be wrong. She hated lying, hated lies, and to have been ... dating... while... otherwise engaged. It seemed like a betrayal. And Hermione just wasn't that sort of girl! She wondered, for a brief instant, if ... her intended knew about the situation. _How could he not? Snape certainly thought I knew._ Even mentally, Hermione corrected herself, _Professor Snape._

"Sounds serious. Well, you'll need an escort, and I think I know just the person!" Tonks babbled out.

"Who's that?"

"Me, of course!" Tonks grinned in reply. _Lovely, just the cheerbox that I wanted to spend an entire day with. She's going to drive me barmy, I just know it._

Hermione was in no better mood (though luckily not a much worse mood) by the time she got to the telephone. It was a grimy thing, stationed outside a bar, "The Motley Fool", complete with a longnosed fool dressed in fools' gaiety.

"Hello, mum?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Yesterday, I heard the strangest thing!"

"Oh, really? That's funny... tell me what happened!"

"Oh, well, you know Ron - we had been having one of those awful fights, again... You know, he honestly thinks I called him _stupid_?"

"That doesn't sound strange, dear, that sounds perfectly normal between you two. You know he loves you, right?"

"Well, I thought he did..."Hermione said a touch wistfully, before pulling herself out of it, " Of course, that wasn't the strange part! The strange part was that Professor Snape said - well, implied really, typical of him - that I was engaged!"

Her mother deliberately put on an air of unconcern, saying to her daughter, "Oh! How very odd. Just the other day, your father and I were informed of a bit of a mixup... I think he might be telling the truth."

"Really?" Hermione Granger asked, a thousand awful questions popping into her mind.

[a/n: I do hope I managed to swing Tonks in and out of the story well. She's normally not so bad, but Granger didn't _really_ believe that Snape was lying...]


	7. Nott a Ting

At the crack of dawn the next day, Draco Malfoy was up and dressed smartly - not that that was unusual, of course. He quickly explained to his mother that he wanted to go see his friend Blaise Zambini. Narcissa Malfoy looked at her son, understanding that he was up to something - referring to Zambini as a friend! After a few moment's consideration, she tossed her hair, and gave her assent.

It took five minutes, and a quick commitment to give Zambini some free rides on his broomstick (provided Zambini cared for it afterwards), before Draco Malfoy was summarily ushered to the library. Zambini sat down and ostentatiously opened a book, reading some direly boring thing on House Ancestry. Or at least pretending to. He was really there to guard his "friend" - not that Malfoy would ever be allowed back if he harmed the Zambini family library. So his guard duty was pointless, as Draco had enough good breeding (and sense) to destroy libraries in such a way as to not get himself blamed _instantly_.

All this dust was going to make Draco Malfoy sneeze. He had never understood, before today, exactly how many days there were to a year. Or a decade. Or a century. And Zambini's mother hadn't bothered to make any of it easier to find, either.

Sighing, he sat down to think, _How old would I have to be to remember a betrothal? Well, they couldn't possibly have made a bethrothal before mother was carrying me... And I would have remembered at eight, I think. No, I know I would!_

In a fit of pique, Malfoy kicked at an embellishment, and Zambini looked up, glaring. _Nine years, this is going to take forever...!_

Lunch had come and gone, and still Malfoy sat, pouring over documents. Now it was time for dinner, and he pushed his hair back, before heading down to the family room for a small repaste.

After dinner, he mulled over the last year, age seven. There wasn't a single thing there suggesting... anything. And that was,in a lot of ways, worse than finding evidence of a plot, of an engagement, of even pointless feuding over who got the girl! _Nothing is the greatest mystery_. It was almost as if Draco Malfoy didn't _exist_. And, crossing his ankles and leaning back in the windowseat, he looked up at Leo. It was a disquieting thought - what if he really wasn't here at all?

Shrugging off such silliness, he headed back to Malfoy Manor, sparing only a wave to Zambini, who looked mildly grateful that Draco hadn't decided to spend the entire night reading the news. When Draco arrived, his mother fastened her hawklike gaze on him, "Lost something in that pile of old news?" _Shit! Caught at it again._

"Quite a variety of things, actually. It's proven terribly interesting." Draco hazarded, his voice that arrogant, uneffected drawl.

"Why, whatever prompted you to study? It's most unlike you, in the middle of summer. Usually you wait until it's far too late." Mother smiled, knowing she had the point.

"A comment my godfather said. He mentioned that you were most upset at my betrothal." Draco scanned his mother carefully, curious as to what her response would be.

Out of nowhere, Narcissa Malfoy tilted her head back, and out spilled silvery laughter. "He would put it that way! He would!" Draco eyed his mother warily - was something wrong? "You were always a difficult child, Draco Malfoy." Narcissa said, and then strolled away out of the room. Draco knew better than to pursue her. She had said what she had wanted to say, and not even a herd of wild horses would get her to divulge more than she wanted. His mother was always thus.

In his own green room, frosted with silver, he stared at the ceiling, musing at what she had told him. She had nearly confirmed that this was a ... magical... bethrothal. Of all the twisted, wyrd turns of fate!

[a/n: Read and Review! Draco hasn't even started down the path of "who could it be" yet...]


	8. A Most Stubborn and Headstrong Child

Hermione Granger sat in the black library, reading through the third in a seeming endless pile of contractual obligations textbooks. They were all about marriages, or in this case, betrothals. How could her parents do this to her? Granger thought, feeling unaccountably betrayed. Moments later, Granger had her head on a book, and she was actually crying, her voice whispering, "how could mum do this to me? I thought she _cared_..."

Severus Snape, who, as was his wont, had been watching his Gryffindor pupil since she came in with Tonks, suddenly spoke up. "You are ever a difficult, most stubborn, and headstrong child, Miss Granger. I find it most _unlikely_ that you've changed, in that. I find it even more unlikely that your Muggle parents could possibly consent to a bethrothal as performed by the Ministry of Magic. That would violate several dozen laws, some of which are punishable by death for all parties involved."

"If... if they didn't...?" Hermione asked, her tearfilled, reddened eyes collecting themselves. "What happened?"

"I can only presume, Miss Granger, that you betrothed _yourself_."

"What do you mean?"

"While ordinarily, I'd simply suggest you consult the library, it appears that the Blacks were quite known for disdaining the oldest traditions. Read this, it may explain. When you're done, return it to me." Severus Snape handed her a thin blue book, that said simply _Magical Betrothals_ on the leather cover. Hermione Granger stormed up to her room, a hank of bread and a wedge of cheese in her grubby other hand. Her eyes burned with determination - Severus Snape wryly shook his head, _So much enthusiasm for such a small book!_

Draco Malfoy, meanwhile, was pouring over entirely too many books in his parents library. There wasn't a single thing written on self-betrothals, as he had taken to calling them. He was certain, dead certain, his mother was laughing at him. That was nothing new. Perhaps his father would swing by, simply to rub salt in the wound? (Bit hard to get out of Azkhaban just for that, mind. Draco knew his father would manage it, somehow). His mother was just waiting for him to ask her, he knew it. She got bored fairly easily, after all, and power games were one way to wile away the time spent inside Malfoy Manner. It was no longer so appropriate for her to attend charity events, at any rate. People talked, and if there was one thing the proud Narcissa hated, it was people gossiping about her. Draco found himself wondering if that know-it-all had found a way to organize a library, to find the right books. Better not to ask, he didn't want to grow radishes in his hair.

[a/n: yes, i'm a tease! Now be good readers and write a review! This part'll be over soon, I promise.]


	9. In the dark of night

Draco Malfoy had gone to sleep thinking about three different strategies to divert Harry Potter and catch the snitch next year. It was a diverting amusement, at any rate, picturing exactly the right push, or the correct dive to take him just over McGonagall's head (one avoided Snape's head - and Dumbledore's, like the plague. Either might be amused enough to cast a "harmless" spell - Snape to teach a lesson, and Dumbledore to have fun. Draco wasn't quite sure which idea was worse, actually). With that in the forefront of his mind, he had dreamed about flying, sometimes in a game, often dancing about Malfoy Manor's grounds - through wood and down vale. Sometimes nude.

So, when he felt someone nudge at his shoulder, his immediate response was to brush at them, with more annoyance than irritation. When he felt the nudge again, he responded similarly, even though he was shedding his dream like a snake sheds his skin - in drips and drabs and pieces. "Draco, wake up." Narcissa Malfoy's voice held a level of icy urgency that he had rarely heard - not since he was seven (he had been flying upside-down, inside no less). Blearily blinking his eyes, he focused on waking up, shaking the sleep out of his limbs. Smoothly, he sat up, looking at his mother. Narcissa straightened, no longer bending over the bed to wake her son. The picture of good breeding and common sense, she said gracefully, "You must leave _now_ , Draco. Go to our abode in London. Explanations later." Draco looked at his mother intently, seeing the faint lines of worry on her face, as he nodded curtly. Without saying a word, he slipped nearly soundlessly down his hall, heading towards the nearest fireplace. He didn't need to think, he just went - the way long since memorized.

Blinking as he stepped out of the Floo, Draco looked over the simple dwelling - one story, but it looked to be the fifth floor, judging by the windows. Not important, he thought, as he waved his wand, first brushing away the ash from his clothes, and then resetting the wards. The Malfoys were well known to have a talent in Warding, and he knew that, barring a dragon, he was the safest he could hope for - outside of Hogwarts and the goblin's lairs, both of whom used magick most arcane.

Heaving a great sigh, he stumbled toward the only bed in the house, and flopped down on it, still in his pajamas. Seconds later, he was asleep.

[a/n: originally, this had more exposition. But I think it works better with just the bare basics. Anyone care to guess what's going on?

Up Next: explanations!]


	10. Time's sweet and deadly embrace

Draco Malfoy _ought_ to have expected it, he thought a bit with chagrin, as he sat upright. Snape had roughly shook him awake, moments earlier. Draco had to strangle a scream that fought like an undine to escape his throat. Sitting up, he regained his composure, looking quietly (but expectantly) at his godfather.

"The Dark Lord has returned." Severus Snape said gravely, his usual purr cast deeper and with a trace of a growl, as he leaned quietly in the doorframe, his angular body half bent to fit (back straight, legs stretching to the other side of the doorjam). He paused a moment, looking at Draco Malfoy almost expectantly.

Draco let a slow smirk cross his face, smugly saying, "That's good news, isn't it? Time turns in our favor, and we gain a valuable ally."

"The Dark Lord is not an ally, Draco. He counts your father as vassal, and bids him _kneel_." Snape said with just a trace of mordant humor.

"As is his right, my father is his sworn vassal."

"Sworn and branded, boy." Snape said, tugging his sleeve up to show the Dark Mark. "Do not forget."

Draco Malfoy eyed Snape curiously - in his mind swirled unpleasant questions - twining together like long strands of kelp in a tumultuous sea. "I hardly see how I could, sir."

"The Dark Lord currently resides in Malfoy Manor." Snape said, in that soft, implacable purr.

Draco Malfoy's world felt like it was crumbling around him, like he had stood at the top of the North Tower of Hogwarts, only to discover it was sand, and the tide was rolling in. _That was supposed to be a good thing, a high honor._ Draco mused, _But if it was such a high honor, then why am I here? It almost, almost seemed to suggest..._ _ **What**_ _was going on?!_

"You will not be returning to Malfoy Manor for the foreseeable future. If asked, your parents will explain that they cannot tell where you are - as indeed they cannot. This domicile is protected by the most ancient Fidelius charm, and neither of your parents are capable of giving the Dark Lord this location." Snape continued as though it was a matter of fact, not that his soft words were destroying everything Draco Malfoy thought he had ever known.

" _But_... but why, sir?" Draco asked, allowing some of the confusion he felt to seep into his eyes.

"Lucius Malfoy is a power-hungry fool, yes, but he's not likely to make the same mistake twice. He swore to serve the Dark Lord - a tool, at the time, to rally a rather conservative faction of purebloods..."

"I know all that!" Draco cried out impatiently, and Snape looked down his long, straight nose at him, giving him a moment to master his anger and frustration. "He does not want you to swear to serve the Dark Lord. You are the last of his line, Draco, and he cares for you."

The words were delivered in Snape's familiar purr, but they came as almost as much of a shock as Draco could handle. Severus Snape was one of the most perceptive people he knew, and he wouldn't lie to Draco. Not over this, at any rate. Slytherins were slow to invest trust or caring in others, and Draco had always wondered, deep in a part of his heart that he kept well buried from others, whether his father cared. For Snape to say so...

"You will stay here, unless absolutely necessary. If there is a dire emergency, please remember that you are surrounded by Muggle London. Disguise yourself, and walk wandless, as a worthless Muggle. Trust to your Slytherin cunning to guide you to safety." Snape smiled a soft, small smile, that only he knew the reason for.

"I must go, before the Dark Lord calls. Walk softly."

"Strike from within the grass." Draco Malfoy said, in his way of parting, before Snape strode out of his bedroom. Draco Malfoy immediately flopped onto the bed, all pretense of genteel breeding forgotten. He lay there and closed his eyes, wishing himself to a sleep that he knew was both fleet and fleeting. He'd deal with this in the morning.

[a/n: Oooh, spice! Didja like it? Tell me inna review!

Snape as usual, is playing all sides against the middle.

Draco _is_ the middle.]


	11. Heroes hide in the heights

Harry Potter reflected wryly that this was not his day. Ron and Hermione had been going at it like cats and dogs for months, mind, so it wasn't like Harry was unused to shouting. And here he had thought it would get better when they started to date each other, instead of, like a pack of fools, dating other people. No such luck that. And this? This was worse.

He had come down to breakfast, finding Hermione in the library (no one had bothered looking at the book she had been reading, other than to notice it was smaller than usual for her). Harry had gotten within three feet before she calmly stuck a foot on his head. "Honestly, Harry! I'm not that oblivious." Neatly foiling his plans to sneak up on her, that's Hermione Granger everyone. Almost surprisingly, she had quietly headed off to breakfast with him. Gin Weasley was still trying to send him some sort of look - not that he'd ever been able to figure out exactly what she wanted. Maybe Hermione'd know, but asking her would imply he actually cared. Which he didn't, Harry hoped. It was probably nothing important, anyway.

Ron came sulking downstairs just as Harry had poured half the syrup on his pancakes. That was nothing new, of course. Ron was screaming or sulking or laughing, but very rarely just plain _quiet_. Quiet was Harry's job. Hermione didn't look up from her blueberry oats, simply said clearly and calmly, "Ron, can I talk to you for a minute? In the library?" Harry looked up at this, and in his confusion, had actually poured about half of the syrup - for everyone, all over his plate. It had run onto his lap, and the table as well. Ron had stood up quietly and gone with Hermione - probably expecting an apology for something that Hermione would insist she was perfectly reasonable about.

Five minutes later, the firework (that being Ron's ruddy head) exploded out of the library. "Engaged!? What the everliving bleedin' hell! Engaged!" Harry could tell that Ron was actually upset (as opposed to simply being snitty) because he descended into the Potions lab in the basement. Even Hermione would think twice before setting foot in there. Of course, the muffled cursing and occasional shatter of glassware would be dead giveaways, but still...

And Hermione? Well, she was locked up in her room, bawling her eyes out. Which was also unusual, as Hermione tended towards stamping feet and other indications of ... well, anger, and not hurt.

Harry had a disturbing thought - had Ron proposed? The mind boggled at the idea... Had Hermione? Somehow, that seemed even less likely. Although Harry Potter wanted to know just what in the bleedin' hell was going on, he didn't feel up to braving the emotional maestrom that the house had turned into. Instead, he sat up by the eaves, looking out a third-story window in the attic, trying to think about anything but his two best friends fighting. Reluctantly, he began to twirl his wand, casting spell after spell.

[a/n: Felt it was more effective as a Harry chapter. Hermione's not had the best time of this. (Draco,on the other hand... still hasn't told Pansy).

Write me a review and tell me what you think!]


	12. Darkness gathers

Were Severus Snape a man given to analogies, he might have said that the Order's work was beginning to resemble a game of Whack-a-Mole. If, that is, he also wanted everyone to realize that he wasn't a pureblood. As he sat eating his burnt toast and bangers in the sitting room, the kitchen seemed to spring to life with a ruckus of people. Granger, Weasley, Potter - and more! Snape stood up and retreated back to his room, where the silence would be comforting.

* * *

Hermione Granger felt, rather than saw, Ron refusing to look at her. His hostility seemed like it could burn through her paper with a single glare. Harry, as usual, was trying not to get in the middle of the fight - definitely not having realized this fight was a little more than the usual. Or maybe Harry Potter had noticed, and was simply choosing to act otherwise, until someone decided to spill their guts. Either way, the newspaper was far more important than either manchild. For the newspaper told of three Muggle villages, burnt to a crisp - and all with the symbol of the Dark Mark overhead. Hermione thought that she at least might be glad that since everyone was dead, the Obliviators would not be put out by the unwarranted violence - that was the shock talking, Granger was pretty sure.

No one was telling them anything, and Hermione could see how much it rankled Harry - because it angered her even more! Putting children in harms way was one thing - if they weren't in harms way already! And Hermione knew that there were people at school that would as soon kill her as step aside to let her through. They were bound by convention, by nicety - but mostly, by the very dire punishments that Snape and Filch were sure to hand out if they ever _contemplated_ doing something that unsubtle.

None of that mattered right now, Granger thought with a chill running up her spine. She wasn't at school, and should any evil catch her - they'd have the freedom to do as they pleased.

Molly Weasley's irrepressible good humor itched on Hermione Granger's very skin, the feeling of cheer at utter odds with how she felt. It felt like ice had crawled, slithered into her veins. And Ron's anger was just making her colder. Hermione refused to shiver, refused to put the paper down, as she read on, looking for clues, for hints about a new attack - not daring to presume that she'd find anything.

* * *

Lupin woke to the sharp smell of anger and the creeping miasma of despair. Inhaling it slowly, he stood and dressed, carefully sidling down the stairs into the kitchen for a bite to eat. The smell seemed to cluster about the kids at the table - how in _Hel's Name_ was Molly Weasley that cheerful this early? Couldn't she notice, even a little, how troubled her youngest son was? Lupin was tempted to usurp her role as mother figure - if he wasn't sure that Hermione would sear his ears off! That little lady had quite the temper!

* * *

Snape reappeared about midmorning, contriving to buttonhole all three of the Golden Trio in the library - when Ron saw Hermione, he turned around, as if to leave in a fit of stifflegged anger, but Snape's glare had him simply stepping into a corner - backwards, still facing Snape and ignoring Hermione. "None of you are to leave Grimmauld Place with a wand. I have heard rumors, and snips of information more credible than that. Someone is using wands to track us, it's why we haven't been able to catch hide nor hair of the Death Eaters. If you must leave - for any reason, and you'd best make it a good one, if you value your hide - wear a disguise." Snape did not pause for any comment from his audience, simply whirled and strode away, his mind already on Parkinson and Nott.

[a/n: Review, plz?]


	13. Parachuting allies

The next day, Draco Malfoy awoke to a cold flat, snuggled tight under completely inadequate blankets. Mentally, he cursed, having forgotten to light a fire - he had been so tired. There were books around - his parents were never without them, for all that they loved to play the socialite and the debonair lord, they werer really quite educated. He sneered at the inadequate facilities, upset more because of lack of house elves than anything else. He thoughtfully got out a loaf of bread - where had it come from? Snape? The thought of Snape hauling food was almost laughable - for all that he was a potions master, and thus knew his way around plenty of dangerous creatures, and the ways of harvesting herbs both common and uncommon. It seemed to Draco that his godfather would have more dignity than that. But it wasn't as if Draco knew any spells to conjure food... so he started to work his way down the loaf of bread, crumbs falling everywhere. He idly wondered if they'd attract rats, or maybe insects... He looked out the faked window, into a pastoral scene that was undoubtedly occuring somewhere - just nowhere near London Town.

Suddenly, his floo flared - out tumbled the two Greengrass girls, giggling as if they were just here on a lark. Draco might have believe them, if he hadn't known that his parents wouldn't have given up this location for _anything_. A bolt-hole was only as secure as it was private.

Drawing his wand, he stood - maintaining the high ground and reminding them that they were trespassing on his rightful domain was well worth the loss of shelter. At any rate, he was still behind the kitchen-island (and it appeared far more opaque than a table, anyway).

"Why are you here? Have you come to someplace you shouldn't be? Are you trespassing?" His voice had seemed calm at first, but the second question seemed sly and crafty - and the third one lunged at the girls' throats. They certainly seemed frightened, clustering together as they curtseyed.

"Draco Malfoy, we request sanctuary, in your home and on your land. We will pay whatever it is that is honestly come by." Daphne said, her hands gently pushing her younger sister behind her, as if to protect her. Asking anything major of her younger sister would make an enemy of Daphne, and that would be poor politics. Well, Draco Malfoy thought crossly, it wasn't as if he had to decide _now_. They were still using the inferior protocols - not the ones designed for a Lord and Lady. Their parents were likely not dead, and as Draco Malfoy devoutly hoped his parents were yet alive - and long to remain so, he'd do the same.

"I grant you sanctuary, in so far as I may, and I shall accept a favor of equal - or slightly more value when the time is right." A deft bit of negotiation, that. Showed that he knew he was on a better footing than they were - and yet, that he would only take mild advantage of his better positioning.

[a/n: Draco has no idea what the _hell_ is going on (though he ought to!). Does it show?

If you know what's going on, write me a review and let me know!

Or write me a review anyway, because I like reviews!]


	14. Hermione Hunting

Hermione was watching, taking careful notes, as people swirled into and out of Grimmauld Place. It was as if she believed that just by seeing and keeping track of everyone, she could divine the news - feel the ill wind blowing from the east. A determined Hermione was a happy Hermione, and she was pouring all of her efforts into... doing things that no one wanted her to do. As usual. Not that that ever stopped Hermione, Harry Potter thought wryly.

Lupin again, his weary bones nearly audibly creaking as he tumbled out of the floo - and strode off to give his report to Moody.

Sitting in the living room, Harry Potter pretended to read a book about Quiddich. No one would suspect that he was tracking the goings on just as assiduously as Hermione - just with fewer notes. Harry had learned the hard way that notes could be stolen, after all. He'd give Hermione another few days, and then laze his way in, sprawled beside her on the couch, and start reviewing. See what she had found that he hadn't - and vice versa.

As the darkness gathered outside, Snape appeared in the study where Hermione had been collating her research. "Oh, Professor Snape! I have something to return." And as Harry ever-so-casually glanced up, he saw Hermione handing Snape a thin book that she'd been reading. If it was important, she'll tell me in her own time, Harry thought. Snape nodded, saying gravely, "Stormclouds gather in vale and glen - in all the hidden places darkness pools like ink."

Hermione nodded, as if Snape had said something of great import. "Thank you, sir." Harry found himself wondering what exactly Hermione thought Snape had just said, and if it bore any resemblance to what Snape thought he just said.

Snape looked up, his pitchy eyes staring out of his aquiline face - spearing Harry with their sharp glance. "You are to remain here for the rest of the summer, unless an emergency arises. If you must, absolutely must, leave this house, you are to go wandless. There are too many eyes - and overly interested ears at the Ministry this season. Wear a disguise, too - no sense in putting your face out as if it's on a poster already." Harry was privately certain that the Dark Lord had a poster of him - and perhaps that was exactly what Snape wanted him thinking about (for after all, wouldn't Snape _know?_ ). Probably Draco Malfoy who drew it, at that, Harry thought with a glint of hatred.

[a/n: Harry's got enough Slytherin to be interested in everything going on. Ron's probably _actually_ reading about Quiddich.

Well, there's another piece on the table. Can you see where I'm going yet? Even if you can't, write a review anyway!]


	15. Stubborn as Stone

It was the next day before Draco Malfoy heard the floo again - the Greengrass girls well settled, he stood, wondering who could be there. Walking in from the kitchen, he saw Greg and Vince, looming like two hulks in the half-darkness of early summer morning. "What's wrong? Why are you here...?" Draco Malfoy asked, his face one of concern that few ever saw.

Greg said not a word, which was unusual to say the least. At last, Vince spoke up, "Protection. Security. Safety." And it was then, that Draco Malfoy realized something had gone abnormally wrong. (Not in a million years would he have expected his minions to remember the forms. Still, he owed them his loyalty, as they owed him theirs).

"Granted" Malfoy said in a voice that sounded steelier than he felt. He motioned for the house elf to get both his minions some tea, and he beckoned them down onto the couches, which sighed a bit at their weight.

"P'fess'r Snape said, if I valued my mind - my life, that I should go here, and _stay_." Crabbe said, in that slow way that he had. Draco knew that he was remembering the exact words - it was a talent Draco had made use of, time and again.

"Why, whatever's wrong?" Draco Malfoy asked, his voice tender as a newborn fawn, dread curling deep in his gut.

"Screams, I dunno what happened. Scared to look, really - unending, stop-your-ears to stop hearing them screams." Crabbe said, and Malfoy wondered if the Dark Lord had brought Muggles to the Crabbe estate (it was really too small to call it that, but give them their dignity).

"Muggles maybe?" Draco Malfoy offered, almost hopefully.

"Dunno, didn't see. Shouldn't anything be left to scream like that - not even a hippogriff." Crabbe said slowly. And Goyle said nothing at all - which disturbed Malfoy more than Crabbe's words.

Goyle didn't say a word that entire day, not even when the Greengrass girls snuck up to plant kisses on his face - though he did grow terribly red from it.

[a/n: just a short taste - we'll get more of Draco next chapter.]


	16. Obsidian Glares and Venomous Laughter

Hermione was still not talking to Ron - actually it was the other way around, as usual. Hermione Granger was in the library, reading books - as she loved to do to get her mind off of things. Ron was stalking Grimmauld Place, as stiff as a board and as ready to snap. Harry Potter avoided both of them, as much as possible. But even Hero In Trainers Harry Potter needed food. And so, he snuck down after proper dinner to grab a quick supper.

Sirius was there, and Harry felt his mouth stretching into an impulsive grin. It felt so good to see him again - he had been wrapped up with work for a while, and Harry had missed having someone there for him (Hermione and Ron being entirely too preoccupied with each other, and neither of them was really willing to listen to him this time).

Mocking clapping (Harry hadn't known that was possible), followed by - in Snape's smooth sardonic drawl, "What a touching reunion."

"Why, if it isn't Snivellius! Don't mock what you ain't got, bastard."

"If I wanted the boy's loyalty, I'd have it." Snape said, with a sneer.

"You haven't a heart, Snivellius, and that's always been what's wrong with you." Sirius managed this with the widest, most "punch me" grin on his face. Beneath Sirius Black's arms, Harry Potter was shaking - he recognized that venomous look on Snape's face - and no good had ever, ever come of it, whether it was on Snape's face or Mr. Dursley's.

"Fifteen minutes until our... palaver. Control yourself, or you won't like the consequences." Snape spat, his shaking hands curled into fists as his robes whirled, a black whirlpool as he strode into the library. Almost despite himself, Harry Potter was impressed - he didn't think he'd manage to pull off a feat of self-control like that.

Harry Potter's ears were pricked, as he listened to Hermione Granger telling Severus Snape that she had something for him. A second later, his mind was filling in what Sirius had just said - as Harry had been staring at the library... _"It's okay, you don't need to be scared of slinking Snivellius. He's a coward, is what he is."_ Harry, relaxing now that the conflict was mostly over, shook his head, suddenly understanding that Snape would have been much less upset to be called a coward than heartless. For whatever reason. Harry Potter mentally told himself not to pry.

Hermione came plunging down the stairs, carrying a thin volume, before dashing into the library (He said he'd be there for fifteen minutes, there's no need to rush - but that's Hermione for you). "Thank you, Professor Snape, it was most helpful."

"You're welcome. I shall be returning it to where it belongs, after this meeting."

Unasked questions gleamed in Hermione's eyes, and Harry Potter bit his cheek to keep from grinning. He didn't protest a whit as Sirius sat him down and began to regale him with edited versions of what he had been doing. Harry didn't particularly mind if most of them involved doing daring deeds in front of buxom ladies. He was rather inclined to think that most of them were made up - as surely Dumbledore wouldn't have Sirius tasked to do that!

[a/n: Nobody sent Sirius to France. He is not Ben Franklin.

Snape's comment feels like Harry should think it over more - but Harry just lumped it in with "people fighting" and shrugged it off.]


	17. Conjuring Unseen Horrors

Draco was in his room, with its paper walls, trying to think. _It was one thing to have his world crash down around him - everything his father had ever pretended about the Rise of the Dark Lord -burnt to ashes. That was... devastating, to tell the truth if only in my own mind._ Springing to his feet he paced back and forth - three paces, a quarter of the size of his room at the Manor. His fists curled in frustration. He hadn't a word of what went on outside the flat - all he had was silence. Think it through, Draco, he prompted himself. But the only thing his mind could conjure in the darkness were unseen, eldrich horrors - impossible things that crawled out of anticline geometry - the fearful understanding that things _weren't right_ \- and in a way he'd never suspected.

Goyle wasn't talking. It would seem like such a small thing - the stout lad wasn't a chatterbox, not like the Gryffindors merry band of brothers - but he wasn't prone to silence or sulking either. He spoke quietly, and firmly - and with an air of authority. That he obeyed Draco Malfoy was more a matter of family status, rather than of temperment. Draco Malfoy would _understand_ if all Gregory said was, "It was bad." That was his way, and Slytherins don't pry amongst themselves - too much chance for someone to take undue offense.

But silence? Draco _hated_ the implications... It was like seeing ultraquarine painted on every wall of Malfoy Manor- utterly incredible. Totally unbelievable. And most of all, completely _wrong_.

It was nearing midnight and through the thin paper door, Draco heard the sound of the floo. He entered at a leisurely stroll, his body crying out for him to ask, "What news!?" He blinked, as he opened the door, looking at Snape and Pansy Parkinson. That _Snape_ , of all people, had brought Parkinson here... that spoke volumes. Snape was the _last_ person anyone would use for a _Peacemaker_ , except in extreme need.

"A gift, young lord, in exchange for sanctuary for this young lady." Snape said, his voice formal, as he started the role of intermediary.

"Do you think that a gift will quench the Malfoy's anger? Are you truly so ignorant?"

"Do you think the Malfoy's so stupid as to refuse a gift before even opening the cover?" Snape snapped, his mien showing barely suppressed rage. Draco thought it mostly an act - part of the formality. Draco Malfoy hoped it was an act - it was not _wise_ to antagonize the cranky Potions Master.

"Perhaps seeing is indeed believing..." Draco Malfoy said, opening the potions book carefully. Inside, he saw a different book entirely, and his eyes gleamed with greed.

"You see that treasures are indeed found in the unlikeliest of places, do you not?"

"I should not judge a book by its cover. Consider myself duly chastened. Very well, I will accept Parkinson under my protection, if she swears to do me and mine no harm in the interim. The Malfoy anger is unquenched and unyielding, but I shall turn it aside with mercy - for now."

[a/n: codes and forms of honor. Pansy's family and Draco's family were squabbling - this is about the best he can do, because he's not the Head of the Family. He's being generous, even - he could have asked for more from Pansy.

I do like reviews, so drop me one!]


	18. Trust is always a lie

Pansy gave a long, shivery sigh, as Draco said his piece, "I do so swear." she said calmly, holding to the forms as if they were a lifeline - which, Draco began to suspect, they really were.

At the long shivery sigh, Draco widened his eyes slightly at Pansy, sending her just the trace of a glare. Didn't she know she could trust him?

Pansy's eyes tightened at that, along with her mouth. The slightest of frowns, conveying her displeasure - You don't understand.

"Eat, Drink-" Draco's mouth quirked sardonically, "Be merry."

"For tomorrow we die." Snape purred, his mouth quirked into that half-smirk that was the closest he ever got to a smile.

Pansy took her cue as suggested, scurrying over towards the rest of Draco's merry band of minions.

"What news?" Draco asked abruptly, knowing everyone was still in earshot, but would at least pretend not to have been openly eavesdropping.

" _You're_ news," Snape started, as Draco's eyes widened - he hadn't even been thinking, he had been so _worried_ about everything... "Cracks in the dyke, and you're far from the only."

"Hit it with a hammer hard enough, and the whole thing shatters." Draco responded, looking at Snape with something approaching awe.

Snape said mockingly, "Now if only _someone_ had a hammer!"

"My father - " Draco broke off, "you, sir."

Snape scoffed, "Even Dumbledore, or _Potter_ would do, if either of them could lead" _a passel of Slytherins_ went without saying.

Draco felt a sudden frisson of fear sneak through him, _This will turn out very badly without a hammer, won't it? For us, for our parents - for everyone._ It had been one thing, after all, to feel a bit of superiority over the Muggles - only natural, really. And it certainly couldn't have hurt to have a Slytherin in charge again - _as it should have been all along..._ But - now it suddenly felt like he had a different hand of cards, and these were ugly cards indeed. Being bound to the Dark Lord suddenly didn't seem like an honor at all, if his parents were so willing to sacrifice to keep him away from it. Away from Him. Was he really so unstable as to harm his own minions? Should he worry about his parents?

"I must leave. Take care of them." Snape said, his voice low and almost a caress.

"Goodbye." Draco Malfoy said regally, calling on skills that had been drilled into him as a child.

* * *

Within minutes, Draco was curled up in his room, looking at the thin blue book, with _Magical Betrothals_ on the cover. He hadn't read a word - yet. It smelled like honeysuckle...it was June... Draco wondered, suddenly, if Snape had gotten this from - _or given it to_ \- his betrothed. It seemed like a promising avenue to explore.

Draco thought of a girl in the woods, in an airy pastel sundress, sitting below an arbor of honeysuckle, reading the book and playing with the flowers.

A second image arose, of a girl in a dress, reading the blue book carefully in a Solarium, her perfume scenting the pages.

A third image rose in his mind, a girl in bloomers, halfway up a tree, grabbing for the sweet flowers, the book half-abandoned on the ground.

Draco closed his eyes, paging through girls at random - large and small, smiling and glaring daggers, leggy and plump, blond and red. _Who was she?_

[a/n: Enjoy! Draco's got dreams... Write a review!]


	19. Charlie's Here!

It had started out as such a good morning, too, Hermione thought, as she stood stiffly, looking out the eaves of Grimmauld Place. The birds flew back and forth, and here she was, trapped - and not doing a damn thing. Below, sounds of wild laughter echoed. She heard Ron call upward, "Charlie's here!", and then the stampeding of Ginny flying down the stairs. Harry followed at a bounding, leisurely lope. It didn't feel right, for her to go downstairs. Charlie hadn't heard about the fight... and he wasn't her brother, either. Why should she want to welcome him? They weren't friends.

With muscles and bones that complained about her enforced positioning, she tottered back to her room, grabbing the first book that she could find. It was dark and delicious - spells and legends wrapped together, forming a twisted skein. She had never wanted to use Dark Magic - but learning about it? It called like a flame, flickering at the edge of her awareness, calling her to just step a bit closer. When her moods were at their darkest, she leaned in.

Minutes later, she was again in the eaves, reading the book - as she heard -without listening, the pounding of feet as Charlie and the other kids retreated to someone's room. Light laughter did not catch her attention - and neither did Harry's green eyes, still and quiet, looking up at her a moment, before heading into an unseen room.

Perhaps minutes passed, perhaps hours - Hermione was wrapped up in the book, and utterly insensate to time or her body's own needs. Suddenly, she snapped out of her daze, as twin freckled hands pushed her hunched shoulders back. Looking upward, her eyes caught Ron's blue eyes - glimmering with something almost mischevious. She looked again, more firmly in the present, no, that was hope. And, deep inside her, she felt a dark snake settle in her belly, twisting and turning.

"Mione! I figured out what to do! Well, really Charlie told me -" Ron babbled quickly, the joyous look on his face unfading.

Hermione bit her lip to hold back a sigh. "What is it, Ron? I'm reading."

"You don't need to marry whomever-it-is! All you need to do is to get your parents to cancel the betrothal!" Ron's face lit into an unrepentant grin.

"My -muggle- parents?" Hermione asked, slowly climbing to her feet - both to gain a few inches on Ron, and because she was beginning to get annoyed. Having the higher ground might help to keep her temper.

Ron nodded, checked himself slightly, and then continued, "Surely your parents would understand that you can't marry a Muggle - Hermione, you're a witch!" And Ron grinned like this had been the most profound thing that he had ever thought of. Perhaps it was, at that. Still, he needn't look like she ought to fall at his feet for it, Hermione thought, as her fingers gave a bit of a twitch, wanting a wand that was barely out of their reach.

"Ron-" Hermione said, taking a moment to look over the boy she had secretly fantasized about for years, now. He had a broad smile, and bright sparkly eyes. She had to wonder, if only for a second, if she was really saying goodbye to him now. He had such a terrible temper after all. Straightening as tall as she could, she said sternly, "Ron, it wasn't my parents that made this engagement."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, clearly shocked. Below, the twins were looking out of their room - clearly eavesdropping. Hermione sent them scrambling with a glare - she'd deal with them later. [Not that she actually expected them to stop eavesdropping. That was a futile endeavor, and Hermione eschewed futility at all costs.]

"It's... it's magically binding." Hermione said, her voice wanting to quiver, as she stammered through the explanation. "I'm not going to run away from this - pretend it didn't happen."

"But... you have to marry him?" Ron said, looking at her with hopeful eyes, even as the hope dwindled.

"I said I would. Would you have me break my word?" Hermione said.

Harry stood at the bottom of the flight of stairs, and asked simply, "Is the marriage permanent? Could you get a divorce?" The glare Hermione focused on him made him quickly realize that it was the absolutely wrong thing to say. His face paled at the force of her anger, but he stood there, practically demanding an answer. How dare he take Ron's side in this? Ron was acting completely immature, and Harry was trying everything he could to give the boy false hope.

"I could." Hermione said, her voice spitting nails.

"Then it'll be okay!" Ron said, with a grin, "Don't worry, I can wait!"

"Like you did with Lavender?" Hermione said, her grin starting to show glimpses of the rage she was feeling under the surface.

"Exactly!" Ron said, completely oblivious to her anger.

Hermione had had enough - her two friends were obviously in league against her - no matter how crazy that sounded. All she wanted was out. Some time to retreat, to heal. Shoving Ron's shoulder roughly with her own, she barreled down the steps. Harry, with his seeker reflexes, flattened himself to the wall. Hermione had reached the second floor before someone dared to break her run. Fred and George stood there, wide grins on their faces. "We hear someone's getting married!" they said, their words echoing oddly from one mouth to the next. "Who's the lucky guy?" They said, teasingly.

In her heart of hearts, Hermione knew they meant well. She really did. However, that was exactly the wrong thing to ask... " _I don't know!"_ She shrieked at them, hurrying downstairs. She stepped into the powder room, ignoring the audible sniff of the mirror at her frizzy appearance. Even in her rage, her frustration, Hermione remembered Professor Snape's words. Undoing her ponytail, she swiftly muttered a few quick charms. Violet eyes, black hair with just the hint of a wave, spiralling neatly down from her head. She didn't even need to change the length - the lack of curls made her hair easily a handsbreath longer.

Without a word, she slammed her wand down on the sink, and strode out of the house. She needed to _think_.

[a/n: Hermione is not having a good day. Have I depicted that well? Tell me in a review!]


	20. Catfight!

Greg was still not speaking - and Vince kept on trying to tempt him to eat. That was concerning, troubling even... but it was expected. What wasn't expected was the mess that the girls were making of the table. They had been seated as decorum demanded - but that appeared to be where the decorum stopped. _Both_ of the Greengrass girls had decided to flirt with Draco Malfoy - which was fine, they were notoriously competitive with each other, and though Tori had the finer body, Daph had a keen wit that made up for her shortcomings (pun intended). It had all gone to hell, Draco Malfoy reflected, when Pansy walked through the door. Daph had been trying to feed him some grapes - and Tori had her arm twined around his, cooing over the pumpkin juice (which was _just_ pumpkin juice).

Pansy's mouth had dropped, and then she shrieked (which had done nothing for her usual mellifluous voice), "He's my fiancee! Get your own!" And before Draco Malfoy could even open his mouth, Pansy had her hands twined around his neck, more restraining him than actually hugging him.

"Such a pity, dear - to see such a fine specimen" Daph had deliberately let her eyes caress the length of Draco's body, the gleam in her eye nearly predatory, "handed to someone so ... crude."

"Oh, I totally agree, dear sister! Why, I'd cut the best figure with him on the dance floor." Everyone knew that Tori could dance, and only the most imprudent would twit her on the subject. She tended to get violent rather than nasty - and blood never went with anything!

Draco Malfoy had had enough. It wasn't going to get any better, anyway. Three women under one roof meant trouble, and not just in China. He rose to his feet, shaking, as he said to all of the girls, "Get off of me. You may prevail upon my hospitality, but you will not presume to touch my person. I have not granted you such liberties, and that is final." Stunned, Pansy let her arms drop - her mouth falling open into a silent apology that he acknowledged with a glare. _She was just trying to protect me, I know... but even the best schemes have flaws._ The other girls turned back to their food, talking as if there wasn't an empty chair between them.

Draco Malfoy headed into his bedroom, his hand gently fingering the thin blue book for a moment, as he considered. _The girls would sort out their own territory, if I can only let them alone long enough for them to squabble without me as a bloody distraction._ He began to pace, making two turns in the foreshortened bedroom (so unlike the Manor!), before he froze, hearing in his head Severus Snape's words - _If you must leave, leave the wand, and go disguised._ It... would work - if he only dared to do it. To enter the Muggle world - some purebred part of him protested at the entire idea. But, to be deadly honest, his more adventuresome side thrilled at the adventure. Looking at himself in the mirror, he began to edit - still not certain exactly what he was doing, let alone daring to contemplate where he would go. Simply out would have to do. Blonde hair, a honey gold - a workman's deep tan, and sparkling blue eyes (his eyes always danced like fish snatching flies off a clear river). He could do more, he knew - but all Slytherins knew that the best disguise kept enough of yourself that you'd still feel comfortable with it. Setting down his wand, he walked towards the front door, knowing that the only people who would notice him were Vince and Greg (the girls were still fighting... obviously, or he wouldn't be leaving).

Stepping out the door, he took a breath of fresh air, and felt freer than he had ever expected to feel.

[a/n: Did you want more squabbling? Can you see where this is going? Write me a review - other stories are calling.]


	21. Walking out o' doors

Hermione Granger had stormed out of the house like a mouse, leaving quietly but firmly - insistent that she'd get some time alone. To think. Or not, as the case may be. This steamy weather was doing nothing for her temper, she thought as she strode down Grimmauld Place - it was a normal back-alley street, and she headed towards the bigger houses on the main thoroughfare. She knew if she kept walking she'd be drenched in sweat in no time. Wishing she had her wand to shorten her skirt by an inch or three, she took a deep breath before exiting Grimmauld Place - into the scattered people walking on Oak Street. As she walked, her pace quick but unhurried - the sign of someone who was "getting things done" rather than in a panic - she let her thoughts wander. She smiled at a lady pushing a pram, and waved at the mailman dodging a foothigh puppy, all big feet and floppy ears. She had missed this level of interaction, Hermione thought absently. In the wizarding world, you tended to know people. This, here, was an informal acquaintance - borne of city streets and enough people that you didn't even know your neighbors' name. No Molly Weasley poking her nose in your business, here - just a rather diffident acceptance that you belonged. With a smile, she filtered along the street, drawing not even so much as a stare.

Draco Malfoy ambled down the busy street, the very picture of arrogant confidence. It was a defense mechanism, and he knew it. Inwardly, he was scanning _everyone_ , looking for just the right target. _This road was more crowded than Diagon Alley right before school!_ he thought in wonder. It took him nearly thirty people before he found someone. His target was dressed in smart dress (not robes, but something definitively Muggle), seemed in his mid-thirties, and obviously strolling towards a business destination. His mood clearing, Draco Malfoy set out to follow the man, sticking to him like a shadow. Where the man paused, Draco did as well - taking a certain sort of comfort in the familiarity of the window-shopping. Not that Draco Malfoy had _ever_ window-shopped - he had always had money to burn, and more space than he knew what to do with. Filling it with possessions didn't quite do the job, but it passed the time well enough. Still, he had often watched as redheaded children stared in the broomstick shop, or tall, lean men looked hungrily into the firewhiskey store, their shaky fingers itching for just one more drink. This was much, much more casual than the greed he had always seen in the children's eyes, or the raw need that he had seen in the hapless drunks. It was the look of a lazy cat, idly inspecting a plump mouse. Draco very much understood the feeling. Draco Malfoy followed the man until he stepped within a barrister's office. His hands in his pockets, Draco idly looked around for his next target, his intent gaze masked beneath an air of affability and unconcern.** A bustling lady hustling along two children came to his attention, and he walked alongside her - not worrying that she'd think he was following her, as she clearly had her hands too full of squirming children to pay much attention to companionship by happenstance. Draco Malfoy followed a few more people, gaining confidence as he went. He learned - not exactly what was going on - but how to look like he knew. When to stop, when to walk, who gave way to whom. All the little social customs. It was a challenge, in a way, and Draco Malfoy had always liked challenges.

**Draco doesn't know how smug he looks.

[a/n: It has always annoyed me that every fanfiction author seems to write it as though Slytherins aren't masters at blending in. Draco doesn't know about cars, nor about redlights, but he's quick enough on his feet to learn about them as he goes - provided there's enough people around to show him what he's supposed to do.

And just as a reminder - Draco and Hermione really haven't been outside in days, if not weeks.

Reviews would be appreciated.]


	22. Finally, some time to think

Draco Malfoy blinked, as he noticed the crowd beginning to thin.** _Now what?_ he thought, knowing that he couldn't just stay _standing_ out here. He'd look odd. Falling behind (cattycorner) to a distinguished looking gentleman, he ambled along, smiling as the man turned into a public house. Draco Malfoy made a show of looking up at the sign - _The Red Bantam_ \- before walking inside. Blinking, as he looked around the dimly lit room, he saw that most of the older men were sitting along the bar, drinking and carousing, as if it wasn't just past noon. Draco wanted some time to think - it was something he had been avoiding for a few days, the suspicion growing by the minute that he had some reevaluating to do. So, he strode to the rearmost table, seating himself with his back to the wall. He eyed the rest of the room half-mistrustfully (trying to conceal it), as a serving wench sauntered up. She bent over the table, revealing most of her bosom with that lowcut dress. "What's your order, sir?" She asked. "What they're having - and keep it coming." Draco said in his perfectly genteel tones.

Outside, and on the other side of the street, Hermione Granger was indulging in window shopping. It somehow felt different now that she was older. Back when she had been ten or eleven, everyone eyed her with suspicion - not necessarily of shoplifting, but of touching the merchandise. Nevermind that her hands were always scrupulously clean. Now, well, there were appraising glances, followed by a sheer indifference that she found refreshing. In Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, there were so few customers that shopkeepers knew you. The bookmerchant always had a smile for her, and the Quiddich merchant a hastily smoothed frown (probably turning more cheerful as soon as Harry Potter was spotted, come to think). Here, nobody cared - it was a cheerful sort of anonymity, the city-buzz saying 'we haven't time to nose into your business.'

"Brandy, neat. Asbach Uralt if you have it." Draco Malfoy said, his voice shifting slightly out of Received Pronunciation - he found himself very glad to have heard one of the old salts at the bar ordering something stronger than beer. He was in a mood, and moods were always better when you were drunk.

The cheerful wench leaned in over him to take the empty beer mug, saying with a smile, "Of course." Draco Malfoy fought to not shrink backwards - it would look cowardly. Besides, he wasn't really afraid, just impinged upon.

When the brandy appeared, Draco took a careful sip, enjoying the smoothness and bite - dark and sweet like stone fruit. With a gentle snort, he found himself thinking, _I could get used to this_. It was a foolish thought - he hadn't the money, the power, even the experience to live in the Muggle World. Not for long. Draco considered himself quite the hedonist, and he could tell when something was exquisite.

With a trace of a frown, Draco started to unpack all of those observations that had been bothering him. He started with what he had thought this would be like - the Dark Lord's return. As a child, he had pictured the Dark Lord as a kindly man, clad in black robes - ready to protect the purebloods. Even a few months ago, Draco would have contended that the Dark Lord's return would have put Dumbledore on the backfoot, and led to Draco Malfoy's inevitable victory at Quiddich (because surely without the blatant favoritism shown Potter...). His parents had protected him _from_ the Dark Lord. That was no unified front, no loyalty given to someone who deserved it at any rate. Was the Dark Lord - were Parkinson's parents - so horrible that they wanted to shield her innocent eyes from the awful sights? It wasn't an out of the question thing, honestly. Draco hadn't detected more than a light strain of sadism in Pansy's mother... but, they were Slytherins, and keeping your cards tucked away was simple good sense. Still... sending Pansy away spoke volumes more - volumes about how much her parents wanted to protect her, treasured her even. Did even the meanest and nastiest of villain*** - of Muggle, even - love? Romantic love Draco would believe, from even the worst soul. But parential love? Fidelity? Draco pondered, swirling the brandy in his latest glass. With a trace of a frown, he set the question aside, turning instead to the propaganda.

Draco Malfoy idly supposed that some would be surprised (though they _really_ ought not to be), that he could recognize propaganda when he saw it. Was he not a Slytherin? (on the other hand, so were Crabbe and Goyle...) Draco Malfoy had always believed himself special, that his name leant weight to his words, and a surety to his beliefs. But he knew that the claims that purebloods were inherently more talented or more intelligent were so much rubbish. Potter was certainly talented, and he was a halfblood of some renown. And Granger was more intelligent than any witch he had met, save one or two of the Pureblood Dragonladies****. With a quirk of his mouth, he idly thought of an impossibility - Granger as one of the Dragonladies. Oh, she'd be grand, he thought with a low chuckle, clad in stylings so ancient they were avant garde. Oh, and that Gryffindor temper - it _would_ make _waves_! Draco Malfoy thought, I'd like a ringside seat for the bearbaiting. As he pictured Granger, clad in corset and stays, he saw spear after spear sticking out of her, blood slipping down the pure white dress - and that look in her eyes, as fierce as the day she slapped him, third year. Oh, but it was a pretty picture, he thought with a quiet laugh. Pity he'd never get the chance to see it.

**Lunchtime Over!

***old definition

**** not a club, just a nickname for the stout women who tend to govern their husbands and their affairs wisely.

[Asbach Uralt is a traditional British officer's brandy. It's from Germany, and is really quite good. The germans don't drink it.

Draco is drinking rather slowly, but he is getting steadily more drunk.

If you like this, drop me a review. Hell, if you hate it, I'll learn what i'm doing wrong. So write a review, dudes!]


	23. Dark eyes across a shadowed room

Draco Malfoy blinked as he looked down at the array of shot glasses in front of him. "Something stronger." indeed, he thought wryly. He felt a little like a skipper on the vast blue ocean - everything was changing, swirling down below him. But if he looked too closely, he'd fall in, and get swallowed up in the cold cruel depths. It was easy enough to find the lies - the trouble was accepting that they were lies. That thousands of simple, small truths

Hermione had calmed down during her window shopping, but as afternoon's light faded towards evening, she found she didn't want to return to Grimmauld Place. It was free out here, with the wind, and the faint shreds of birdsong (probably wrens). People were here, but they didn't press on her. She found, suddenly, that she wanted to hear people. To listen to the hum of people talking about nothing - or everything, but nothing important. Along the other side of the street were a variety of public houses. Perfect.

Draco Malfoy studied the easy familiarity of the Muggles at the bar - old salts all, their beards as bushy as their skins were swarthy. They talked with a companionable air that Malfoy envied. Slytherins tended to be too suspicious for all that chumminess, but Draco wondered, suddenly, what it would be like. After all, here he was - and no one knew who he was. Why, he could jump on the table and dance a jig! Or he could sing a bawdy song, the likes of which would make old men blush. He was definitely too drunk, Draco thought with some chagrin.

Hermione Granger looked at the Drowned Rat, and with a frown walked onward, the loud rap music entirely not to her taste, now or ever. The next bar looked like it was waiting, a cat ready to pounce on mice. But she wasn't looking for a dance, or men to harass her. Just some peace and quiet, and people who didn't even think to look at her. At the corner of the street, she found the Red Bantam, and a glance in the window showed a bunch of old men chatting it up with each other, the bartender looking casual and at ease. There we go, she thought, entering the pub without another thought.

Draco Malfoy eyed the woman entering the pub. She seemed cold, somehow - was it her porcelain face, or the black hair that framed it? She sat with her back to the wall, near the center of the room. She didn't sit like someone waiting for someone else, and she seemed content to simply drink water. Yet, she tipped as if she was drinking a fine red. For such a cold looking woman, she looked refined - graceful - and relaxed in the warm half-darkness of the public house.

Hermione Granger enjoyed listening to the increasingly ridiculous tall tales coming from the bar. The men didn't seem to care that nearly every word was a lie - hell, if she asked, they'd tell her it was all part of the fun. There were fish stories, and brawling, and impossible actions done to win women - and even more impossible tricks done with the women they won. Boasting and bravado, but all in good fun. It was relaxing, to listen to people whose faces weren't pinched with worry - whose eyes sparkled all the more for each other's good company. Granger looked at the blond, sitting at the last table, his back against the wall. That was a man, if her books told her true, that had a quest. Oh, it was a fanciful idea, indeed, she thought with a laugh (and where was my party of trusty companions?) - but there was still something about him. Dark shadows lurked in those bright blue eyes - clear as the midsummer sky. The long line of shot glasses promised a drunk - but the way his hand took the latest libation told a different story. Either a man well used to potent drink, or a man who'd been here longer than even he thought.

* * *

"Severus, come quick!" had been the words Molly had said. His face still calm as ice, his heart skipped a beat, thinking of all the possible calamities. Bloodloss, poison, treachery - all had bounced through his head like gumdrops. What he had not expected to find was Potter and Molly and the wolf, with Lupin barring the door to prevent Potter from leaving. Of all the light-blinded ideas!

"Why, in all of creation, am I saddled with fools like these?" Snape drawled to himself, his venomous voice silencing the cacophony. "Whatever is the problem?" he asked.

"It's Hermione!" Potter cried. "She left - and without her wand!"

"And you decided this was worth bothering me about?"

"It's been six hours" Lupin snapped.

"I'm beginning to worry..." Potter said, his green eyes flashing with what looked curiously like remorse.

"If this is you beginning, I shudder to see what the terminal condition would be. It might prove fatal."

"Will you look for her?" Molly asked, wringing her hands.

"Someone had better, before Harry decides it's his job."

"Well, it's certainly not mine." Snape cracked, his entire mien standoffish. "Very well, I will go for a walk. Perhaps it will help me think. Should there be any signs of trouble, I shall investigate."

"Thank you!" Molly cried out, smiling through watery eyes. Gryffindors were easy marks, if you knew how to work them.

"Mister Potter, you are under no circumstances to leave the relative safety of this house, is this understood?"

"Yes sir." Harry replied, and Snape was gratified to see the steadiness in the young man's gaze. Not a flicker of deception. Good, that might hold an hour or two.

[a/n: because neither of them were looking for a friendly companion to drink with...

Snape is ridiculously fun to write.

I do love reviews, and they do keep me on track!]


	24. Hard eyes, Resolute heart

Snape turned as if to go, before suddenly spinning around, "Potter, perhaps you'd care to tell me why Miss Granger left so suddenly?"

Potter's face fought to pale, as he stood stiffly - his mien crying guilt to all and sundry, "Ron Weasley." He said sullenly.

Snape raised an eyebrow, not needing to say a word as he silently prompted Potter to continue.

"Well, Charlie was telling him about betrothals, and he thought Hermione could just ask her parents to break it."

"Her... muggle... parents?" Snape said slowly.

"Yes, sir."

"You know Miss Granger better than I do, Potter. What was her likely mental state when leaving?" Snape was starting to wonder if - rather than Granger being kidnapped outside her house, she was simply curled up in a library somewhere. The British Library was known to have some rather famous works, after all. And Miss Granger didn't normally live in Londontown.

"Angry, sir. Steamed, even. Likelier to smash something than to do anything else. But... -sir! if she was just going to cool off, she'd have been back by now!" Potter's green eyes flashed with confidence nearing certainty.

"So..." Snape said slowly, "You don't think it likely that she'd be off crying somewhere? Finding someone to spill her troubles on?"

Fred Weasley piped up, "That's just not likely, sir!"

George Weasley said, "She'd sooner skin Ron than cry over him!" That mental image prompted Snape to look down suddenly, as he smothered a smile in its cradle.

"I'll have a look for trouble, and that's all. If she's gone to her parents house, I'm not going to find her." Snape bent over Potter, his head advantage making Potter nearly take a step back, as Snape's hair brushed against his forehead. "You are _not_ to worry, if I do not return."

Snape straightened, looking over his shoulder at Molly Weasley (her matronly body blocking the door to the kitchen), "Molly, do you have work enough to make sure they can't worry?"

"Of course, Severus! Always!" Molly looked at the rest of her brood, and said, "Now, boys and girl, It's time to chop-chop!" The twins groaned, and by the time anyone thought to look elsewhere, the front door had already closed behind Snape.

* * *

Hermione Granger wasn't the type to question when she had made up her mind. And she had made up her mind to have a word with this interesting young man. She strode up to him, and said, "That's a long tab you're running..." His blue eyes looked up from his finger circling the rim of his latest glass, and he stared quietly - with an openness that rid the moment of any potential hostility. Leaning over the table a bit, she asked "What's bothering you, stranger?"

In his thick Welsh accent, Draco Malfoy drawled, "Ennui," before tipping back the drink straight and neat.

Hermione found herself smiling, as she responded, "Now I know you're lying. Plenty of better places to fix that - on this street even. You've got something real bothering you, don't you?"

"A man sits at the crossroads, unsure of how he came here, or where he is going. I've a choice to make, and I don't like any of the options. Unless you've got a better one?" Draco Malfoy leans back in his chair, his hand waving out at another seat (also facing the room), "Take a seat, you're hurting my neck."

Hermione Granger sits down gracefully, aware that her new face and hair make her look much more elegant than she normally does. "Funny, you don't look like a man stuck in a quandary."

"Oh?" Draco Malfoy asks, his rounded vowels and drawl making it into a multisyllabic word.

"Most choices come down to risks and rewards. The safe way, or the daring way. You don't have that nervousness about you - the "should I or shouldn't i?" that leads someone to take neither choice."

"Or worse," Draco Malfoy chimes in morosely, "make a choice in haste, having spent all the time for contemplation on wishing someone else would make the decision for you."

Hermione Granger looked at him, blinking for a moment, and then laughed. "So what's really bothering you?" _The accent's wrong... so are the clothes... is there anything right about this young man? Who is he really?_

[a/n: Write me a review, folks.]


	25. Dropping the Mic

Severus Snape frowned to himself, as he strode out the door. He had specifically told Miss Granger to change her appearance, if she was going to leave the house. While a good idea in of itself, she could easily slip through his fingers just as deftly as she would through the Death Eaters' fumbly paws. He walked down the near-alley that was Grimmauld Place, his mind more on scraps and snips of interactions with Miss Granger than on where he was walking - trusting to his feet to continue as he bid them at the start.

Snape blinked as he strode out onto the main throughfare. Oh, it wasn't the cars (which would have astonished many a wizard) - but simply the hubbub and bustle. It was far from what he remembered, when he had gotten the Malfoys' their London residence. Then, it had been inhabited, even humming. But it was nothing compared to the boneshaking rumble coming out of the commercial street now. Snape glanced at the streetlights - newly lit. It was growing dark - he'd best be quick if he wanted to check the alleys. And quick he was, with practice gained as a spy - walking down three blocks in each direction, peering (without seeming to) into any dark corner. There weren't even any layabouts around. Was that suspicious? Snape considered, before finally throwing the thought in the dustbin.

Assuming she's not in the library (by far the most likely place for a library mouse like Miss Granger), Snape frowned, and paced up and down the street. Nothing for it, Snape thought, but to try every place on the block. Snape spared barely a thought for why he was looking so intently. With long hours of introspection, he already knew the answers: first, he was a competitive man - and hated to lose; second, not finding her (if she was close by) would call into question his abilities as a spy. And there was already enough questioning of his loyalties, he didn't need any questioning of his _abilities_.

Start with the lights and the noise, Snape thought suddenly - if she's looking for distraction, well, any Gryffindor would find the loudest (most annoying) one possible. Snape strode into the establishment creating that bone-rattling racket, only to discover that everyone was facing the stage. On the stage, there was an African, chanting some sort of syncopated poem, set to music. Luckily, he spoke in English, or Snape would have found it impossible to understand. As it was, the strangely melodic accent combined with the syncopation made it nearly indecipherable.

With impatience borne of too many days spent in the Potions Lab (or listening to the Dark Lord drone on), Snape cloaked himself in an arrogance that would have surprised most of Hogwarts, owing as it did to several dozen dinners spent with the estimable (by someone, Snape just wasn't sure quite whom) Lord Malfoy. With his characteristic groundeating stride, Snape strode up to the stage, stepping onto it and wheeling to face the crowd.

The African onstage smiled as he ended his performance, and passed the microphone to Snape with a grin. "Break a leg," the man's white teeth grinned skull-like out of his dark face. The looks Snape was getting from the dark-skinned audience were not openly hostile (and Miss Granger was certainly not there, he thought. She'd have done something to show herself, if she saw _me_ scanning the room.), but Snape sensed that not performing (like a trained dog!) was not acceptable. Calming his mind, settling into the discipline that his few friends knew him for, Snape pretended to be nervous, shifting the microphone from hand to hand.

Finally, as the tension grew in the room, Snape spoke.

 _I thought I found a unicorn in the concrete jungle,_

 _I must have been mistaken - it was really just fungal._

 _A monstrous beast, mushrooms everywhere,_

 _I gasped a breath - and then I just couldn't care._

 _Once I dreamed I could just leave everything behind_

 _I strode around the world, but I just couldn't find_

 _Something to shove in the hole in my heart_

 _It's bleeding now, I'm just falling apart._

Lacking someone else to give the mic to, Severus Snape dropped it, his black eyes raking the audience, his foreboding visage as intimidating as before he spoke. The audience was dead silent, as he strode around the edges, leaving the way he came. As the door swung shut, Snape heard snapping of all things, and someone's hushed whisper (all the easier to hear, fool), "Who was that?" For a moment, and only a moment, Snape was tempted to throw his voice back, and respond, "Nobody." Nobody indeed.

* * *

Draco Malfoy considered the porcelain face beside him. Slowly, and after a good bit of thought, he spoke, "Questions, I suppose."

"Oooh, I quite like questions. I must ask - how can a question be what's wrong? It's the answers that prick, isn't it?"

Draco Malfoy gave an elegant shrug (it was a practiced motion), "Not when you don't have them. When you don't have them, the questions poke at the answers you thought you had, and the ones you thought you didn't as well."

"Troubling questions, then? Perhaps, maybe, a problem shared is one that's lighter?" Hermione Granger looked at him confidently, yet without being assertive. It suited the conversation - filled with implications - here the implication was that she expected to be able to help, but was unwilling to demand or impose.

"Perhaps, but that's personal. Now after you've told me what brings you here, well _then_..."

"I'm in dire need of better company and some pleasant conversation as well, honestly."

"Tired of dealing with bairns and the like?" _Again_ , that doesn't fit. Hermione thought crossly. That's _Northern_ , not Welsh at all.

"Only if you mean _mental_ six year olds."

"As in crazy, or merely regressed?"

"I don't think they've ever progressed from being six, despite being a good deal older." Hermione said primly, and was rewarded for her mock governess impression with a surprisingly hearty laugh that rippled around the room. Neither the bartender, nor the serving maid, nor the lot at the bar looked over. "I suppose that might qualify as crazy, yes. I suppose it must!" And Hermione graced her drinking companion with a wide smile that both laughed at her wit, and her erstwhile companions.

"I trust my company will suit better, chopsing though it may be." Draco Malfoy was suddenly struck by how odd it was to be using decent repartee with a Muggle of all things! A muggle! Still, he supposed, she made a better conversational partner than Pansy Parkinson.

[a/n: welshisms would be helpful, reviews will keep me writing. Snape doesn't realize that he sent a signal by dropping the mic. I dedicate this traipsing into having Snape rapping to Gene Merman, who also stumbles into rap competitions.]


	26. There and Back Again

Snape frowned, as he stepped out of the strange establishment. He hadn't exactly approved of their reactions, and rather thought he could do better for a disguise. It took a moment's hurried glance to find the alley he was looking for, and he crossed the street rather diffidently, not bothering to look for cars. It was late enough that they were few, anyway. As he did so, he thought of exactly the look he wanted. Stepping into the alley without a backward glance, his wand started waving in the darkness, in spells so practiced he needn't speak a word. _Anorak_ , he thought, and conjured the vision, coiling it over himself in glamours and transfigured reality both. A calf-length mouse-brown cloak, something _ordinary_ \- and extremely Muggle, where a cloak was enough strangeness to bear. A palid face (far less sallow than his own), complete with pimples. Snape hunched, trembled for only a second, and then scampered out of the alley like a mouse skittering towards safety. No one had watched him enter, and the few that remarked on him slipping away would think it only natural - that a coward's caution had gotten the better of his shreds of lingering bravery. Perhaps they might think it a dare. His face was half covered - enough so that people could catch a glimpse of pearly teeth, or that nose that curved gracefully, or, if they cared enough, his warm hazel eyes. It wasn't a disguise so unlike himself that he'd have trouble with it, and that was the point.

* * *

"Perhaps so," the raven-haired lady said softly, as Draco leaned closer to hear. Her fingers drummed a steady beat on the four inch table. "Your face displays a curious mix - doubt and confidence all at once." Draco leaned back, a bit wary - he hadn't thought a Muggle could read him so well.

"Oh, don't look at me like that - I'm no mindreader," she said with a dismissive giggle. _Did even Muggles have mindreaders? She speaks as if they're normal, or something. I know they don't have magic...but, aside from that, what do I know about them?_ Draco considered his answer softly, using his day spent among them to paint a series of impressions, _I know that they're decent enough towards their children, and that old men sit together and drink._ "I've felt the same often enough, when the world's decided to shift and my feet haven't quite kept up yet."

"And what do you do, when the world's turned on its head?" Draco Malfoy asked, leaning closer, his stormy eyes resembling blue chips of icy hail.

"Why, you turn the doubt into your guide. Think of everything with a skeptic's mind, and where you can't find sound reason, find proof in the pudding."

"And, when none of that exists?" Draco Malfoy says quietly, his troubled eyes looking down.

Someone else might have held his hand. But the Muggle across from him simply brushed her fingertips up his arm, a light touch that faded even as his arm tingled. Her small smile turned wry, as she said, "Then rejoice. For only then can you see the world anew, and remake your mind in the process."

Draco Malfoy looked at her, retaining yet enough presence of mind (and soberness) to not gape like a gap-toothed idiot. "I'm not sure I can do that."

Her blue eyes glittered, and turned calculating - somehow retaining warmth in the process, which Draco envied instantly. "You're here, aren't you? I'd say that's a start." Draco Malfoy tried not to start, containing himself behind well-practiced manners of deception. _She doesn't know I'm a wizard, she can't know I'm a wizard._

[a/n: Draco's right. Up Next: We'll replay that last 'graf from Granger's point of view. Oh, and Snape finally comes through the door!

Write a review!]


	27. Doubt is the handmaiden of truth

_Nothing's ever easy that's worth doing,_ Hermione thought, as she looked at the troubled youth in front of her. His blonde hair and blue eyes screamed sunshine - and yet behind those eyes lurked shadows. A stray thought came back to her, as she looked at him - _his clothes were wrong._ Hermione paused a moment, and studied him more carefully. _There._ It wasn't that the clothes weren't impeccable - or even brand new, they seemed posh enough, even. It was in how he sat, a sort of nervous awareness that he was underdressed. As if short sleeves weren't natural for him - _or showing any skin for me either_. Hermione thought, shelving the clue for a latter moment. Taking a deep breath, she recited,

 _"For doubt is the handmaiden of truth,_

 _Doubt is the key to the door of knowledge; it is the servant of discovery._  
 _A belief which may not be questioned binds us to error,_  
 _for there is incompleteness and imperfection in every belief._  
 _Doubt is the touchstone of truth; it is an acid, which eats away the false._  
 _Let none fear the truth, that doubt may consume it, for doubt is a testing of belief._  
 _For truth, if it be truth, arises from each testing stronger, more secure._  
 _Those who would silence doubt are filled with fear;_  
 _the house of their spirit is built on shifting sands._  
 _But they that fear not doubt and know its use are founded on a rock._  
 _They shall walk in the light of growing knowledge; the work of their hands shall endure._  
 _Therefore, let us not fear doubt, but let us rejoice in its help._  
 _It is to the wise as a staff to the blind._  
 _Doubt is the handmaiden of truth."_

Draco Malfoy stirred in his seat, uncomfortable with the words - but he hadn't been comfortable since he sat down here, which had caused the drinking in the first place. Of course, he was even more uncomfortable with the speaker - a Muggle - and the way her fervent eyes gleamed as she recited that. It was strange - oddly bewitching, though of course not in _that_ way, to see such fiery passion. It wasn't something that Draco had seen much in his life - Slytherins tended to be colder - smoother - subtler. No less passionate, but the passion that submerges you under the waves, not that of a reflected hearthfire, tamed and toasty.

Hermione studied the curious youth in front of her, who looked so uncomfortable with what she had said. "Did I hit too close to the mark?" Hermione asked, only afterwards thinking that such slang was inappropriate to be using with someone who might not understand the idiom. His face darkened, as if to confirm her suspicion that he might not understand - and yet, he made no comment, only stared at her with bleak eyes - as if his sparkling blue eyes were dead and lifeless, instead of only looking like it.

Finally, he leaned forward, looking deeply into her eyes, and said the most disconcerting thing, "I'm supposed to want to kill you." Hermione Granger's breath caught, briefly, as she found herself musing momentarily on why those words seemed so unsurprising.

Hermione Granger's smile met his steady gaze - the smile of someone staring into the sun, moments before they go blind. "We could do that, if you wanted. You've got a knife right here. There's an alley out back." The lad shifted in front of her, almost wanting to say something, before thinking better of it. "No one to hear me scream."

Draco Malfoy boggled, before he could think better of it. He had been wrong to compare this lady to a hearthfire. Only a wildfire, consuming everything in it's path, would dare suggest such madness - and with a smile.

* * *

Inconspicuous, Snape thought, as he stumbled, dancing in a nearly uncoordinated way through the crowds. Not drunk, just uncertain. Another tavern beckoned, looking quieter than the last he had stumbled into. Taking a deep breath and shuttering his mind, his hand touched the door.

[a/n: Daring is the part of being a Gryffindor that Hermione does right.

Leave a review!]


	28. One Scene, Three Ways

[Draco's Viewpoint]

Draco Malfoy's sky-blue eyes flashed fire, as he swore, "Myrdd-" His voice stopped midstream, as he inwardly boxed his own ears. He let his mouth continue on autopilot (hoping he wouldn't say anything too damning-), while he mentally tried to sober up. Because, laid up against everything that he knew about liquor, and his own alcohol tolerance, he was clearly sloshed out of his mind. He had been about to swear - using Myrddin's own name, to a _Muggle_! It was true, it wasn't _quite_ breaking the Statute of Secrecy - but it was a dangerous slip. Slytherins didn't tend to live long if they were prone to slipping. He had to be drunk - far, far drunker than he thought. He broke off his rant to stare at the dark-haired beauty who had the temerity to still be smiling, completely undaunted by his lecture! He felt his mouth tighten into a pert frown. **

[Hermione's Viewpoint]

The strawhaired lad boggled at her - and then swore, "Merde," _He speaks French?_ she thought, _Definitely from the continent. In fact, with the awkward way he wears his clothes - the almost blushing way he sits..._ Hermione had it in a flash, _Chechen - he looks like that because he's used to wearing a lot more fabric. And not looking at ladies wearing so little as I am, either, though he covers that a bit better._ Belatedly, Hermione tuned into the ongoing lecture about taking better care of her own life. She responded back with a smile, her fingers twisting a lock of her hair into an absentminded curl, "I wasn't recklessly risking my life, you know. I was betting - on you."

[Snape's Viewpoint]

Stepping into the quiet bar, Snape nearly stumbled on hearing Draco Malfoy's voice. His hand instinctively went to his hood, pulling it an inch or two over his prominent nose. Continuing as if towards the WC, Snape eyed the bar, with the elderly patrons. _No party atmosphere, this._ He thought, as he listened to Draco's lilting voice - because not only was Draco Malfoy currently in a Muggle bar, he was also drunk enough to not remember his accustomed accent. "You really ought to have more of a care for your life. You- you've got to have someone who cares about you - someone who would crack if you died. Even the slowest child knows not to do that! You can't just go around throwing things like that out at a veritable stranger, even if you were joking. It's not something to joke about." Snape risked a second glance at the person Draco was talking to - yet another person he didn't recognize. With his luck - and wasn't it always wyrd? That would be Miss Granger, wouldn't it? His sharp eyes took in her twisting, unconsciously, her hair into a curl - which looked decidedly out of place on her currently straightened locks. Oh, certainly, the chit had _sounded_ like Granger - but that gesture? That _was_ Granger. Snape smiled a knife-sharp smile, as he stepped into the WC.

**otherwise known as a pout or a moue

[a/n: Well. Snape's here. Any guesses as to what comes next? I personally like that neither Draco nor Granger listened to what the hell Malfoy was saying.

Read and Review!]


	29. A Rather Sanguine Sense of Humor

[Fetch yourself a cookie if you knew where Chechnya is. ]

Severus Snape stood in the WC, staring at himself in the mirror. With a muttered wandless spell, he locked the door, in a rather more permanent fashion than the usual way. With a crisp nod, he started to undress, pulling off the tatty non-descript, shapeless cloak (liver-colored, not black). In its place, he pulled on some swiftly transfigured fishnet stockings, and then slid on a rather formfitting rust-red dress (the color of dried blood - utterly unforgettable). He pulled a packet of emergency makeup out of the messy heap of belongings that had fit comfortably within his cloak. With practiced, sure hands, he set about creating exactly the appropriate impression. Red lipstick, dark eyeshadow, subtle accents on the cheeks to make his cheekbones sharp as a knife. When he was done, he inspected himself with a critical eye - the same one that inspected Potions by color as well as viscosity and legs.** It would do, he thought, as he transfigured a stray pair of lockpicks into black high heels. He paused a moment more, putting a spell-sworn dagger up his offleg (the one without the slit tracing dangerously up his thigh), and then stepped into his high heels. He transfigured a pack of cards into a Tarot Deck, and paged through them quickly, selecting the one he wanted. Finally, he tossed the last of his belongings (a few poisons, his backup wand, and an emetic) upwards, into a darkened corner of the ceiling. Luckily, muggles, like most men, never looked up.

Stepping out the door, Severus Snape put on a deliberately warm smile (despite his crooked, yellow teeth), and let his eyes sparkle as much as Dumbledore's - if far more greedily, as he strolled out of the men's restroom (hopefully no one would call the "woman" on that... they've surely already forgotten the pimply lad who strolled in just to use the loo). _It was good to be off the clock._ *** Letting his smile widen just a smidge, Snape sashayed towards the darkened corner where the two... schoolchildren were currently discussing the Gryffindor's lack of general good sense and prudence. Both of them glanced over at him at the same time - and both frozen in perfect visages of horror. It took them a level three seconds before they recovered - each undoubtedly reassuring themselves that that couldn't be Snape. That it was perfectly, totally, utterly ridiculous - not to mention implausible - that Severus Snape would be approaching them. Smiling. In a dress. And high heels. The two mad-as-march-hares children looked at each other out of the corner of their eyes, sharing a look of some slight skepticism, perhaps wondering why, exactly, he/she was approaching them.

"Look at the star-crossed lovers! Thrice lost, and yet, thrice found." Snape cooed, the smooth warmth sounding foreign even to his own ears, as he deftly laid "The Lovers" on the table in front of them. It was the card of True Love, after all. Both children started at what he had said, moved to laugh it off, and wound up simply looking at each other - each gesturing the other to get this annoyance to leave.

Snape let his smile widen, "Would you two lovers like a reading? If not for love, then for fortune, luck or plain old-fashioned happiness?"

"Not today," Draco replied, "Future's better if you don't see it coming, eh?"

"You might try your luck at the bar," Hermione chimed in, "They look like they're in need of a diversion."

As Snape strolled off (his hips swaying enticingly), Hermione called out, "S-Ma'-Miss, your card!"

Snape only turned his head to eye her over his shoulder, saying broadly, "Keep it!"

He hid a smirk in his hungry smile at Hermione Granger's querulous, "But how is he going to do a reading without all the cards!"

As he had already predicted, Snape had no luck at the bar, and was only flashing a smile at the old sailor as he left to 'try his luck elsewhere.' Smoothly, he slid into the alley beside the bar. It was the work of moments to extract his hidden belongings, and be dressed in something far more suitable to the outdoors. With only a dash of magic, he laid creases on his face, looking not so much older as more weary - and a transition of his hair into half-silvered, alongside hazel eyes, completing the look. Severus Snape, looking more like he often felt, strolled across the street in dapper business garb, settling in behind a paper on a sidewalk table. When the waitress appeared, he ordered coffee with a generous tip. After all, it was likely he would be here awhile. Crossing his legs, Snape settled in to keep a keen eye on his two students in the bar across the road.

**legs is a wine term. look it up!

***Snape-speak for he's not currently obligated (read being paid) to shake the everliving stuffing out of the two nitwits.

[a/n: yes, the dress does actually have some padding up at chest level. No, it's not huge, neither did Snape find it worth noticing nor mentioning.

If you like it, write a review. If you consider this completely implausible, may I remind you that Snape is a spy? Just what did you think spies did, anyway? They know perfectly how to fit in, even in odd situations. Snape's just chosen a bit of a character to play (That being Gypsy Fortuneteller of Possibly Ill Repute, in case it's not perfectly clear).

And, for those not paying attention, yes, that does mean that Snape is being deliberately... provocative. He could have dressed as a sweet little 16 year old girl (complete with glamoured face), and had no one be the wiser that he had been there at all.]


	30. Turning back to each other

"Isn't betting a sin?" Draco says, his slow smile turning warm under her gaze.

Hermione crossed her legs, saying primly, "I suppose. It really depends on what you're betting on. It's sheer folly to bet on games of chance, or horses, or cards." She pointedly doesn't look at the fortuneteller ineffectually plying the bar. "Betting on people? You'll never get anywhere without taking some risks. Or, perhaps I ought to say, if you run from risks, you're never going to wind up where you want to."

"And you thought I was worth taking a risk on, I suppose?" Draco's welsh accent draped across his drawl, his eyes filled with skepticism.

Hermione countered with sparkling laughter, her dark ringlets rippling around her face as she laughed, "Why not? You took a chance on me first."

Draco blinked, looking down at his cups. Looking up again he smiled firmly, lips close together. "Not quite. You were the one who approached _me_."

"A mere technicality." Hermione said, spinning one of her dark ringlets around a finger, before stilling, looking quite serious as she looked at the straw-haired young man in front of her. "Tell me, o troubled one, what do you know? What, in all the whirling, spinning madcap world, are you absolutely certain of?"

It was an excellent question, and a diversion that Draco decided he would allow. She had been so confident in her choice, that he had thought she was unaware of the risk. Heedless, perhaps, reckless more certainly, but certainly not blind. Draco found himself staring into those blue eyes, thinking hard, tossing ideas over inside his head. At first, the words that rang the truest were, of all things, about deceit. The necessity of twisting, of fashioning responses.

Those words crisped, and, unsaid, fell like ashes from his mouth. The exception proves the rule, perhaps... This young woman was direct, unguarded. Not the fragility of innocence, but the plainspoken veracity of true dealing in negotiation. No, those words, which perhaps he would have considered his truth, were suddenly not right. _Another thing to question_. Draco thinks to himself with a curse.

"The sun, the stars, and the great ocean deep." Draco said at last, half of his mouth twitching into the barest wisp of a smile. "For the earth quakes, and people mislead, animals bite and always death feeds." With a soft, closelipped smile, Draco tosses his head. "There's precious few things in this world to trust."

Hermione, having seen her friendship with Ron turn to pain, nodded resolutely in agreement. "Facts. Tangible to eyes, and ears, and even tongue." Hermione felt the barest touch of a blush at the last word.

Draco looked curiously at the young lady in front of him. Was she... actually blushing? A part of him wanted to smirk, to file her secret away. Another part of him wanted to respond in kind.

[a/n: I like reviews. Will you write me one? Snape's outside watching the front of the pub from across the street.]


	31. Truth and Lies a jailbird makes

Hermione smiled, with a bitter edge to it, "You ever seen something that wasn't really there? A mirage, maybe?" Draco's lips parted, as if he was about to say something, when Hermione's voice overrode him, "Silly question, that, isn't it? Of course you have."

Draco nodded, saying softly, "Right on the edge of twilight, you'll see things out of a dream... or a nightmare."

Hermione found herself looking at the strawhaired boy, wondering how often he had shot at something that wasn't really there. If his hands still had the shakes when he heard the report of a car backfiring. Shaking her head, she smiled and said, "Makes you wonder, doesn't it? Why we trust our eyes and ears?"

Draco gave a quiet, one shouldered shrug. "What else could you trust?" he said wryly.

Hermione smirked, saying "Yourself, of course. Nothing real as what's in your head. There's no such thing as a real circle, yet, we can imagine it."

Draco shook his head, "People think all sorts of stuff, and half the time it's total nonsense. Don't look for truth inside someone's head. Even math isn't reality, if it doesn't work." Hermione found herself looking at those intense, iceblue eyes. Draco continued, saying, "You know an illusion to be false because of your senses. It's not because you reason it's wrong, but because your eyes, your mouth, your nose tells you the truth. Every human is a flawed being... but truth - it's still there. Stable. Not going anywhere."

"If truth is external to people," Hermione said slowly, "Then it can't be killed, quenched, extinguished."

"Can you imagine? Someone murders the one truth-carrier, and the world ceases to be?" Draco said with a nearsoundless laugh.

"What would the rest of us do?" Hermione said with a grin.

"Wake up from the dream. Like sleepwalkers, we'd suddenly realize that the sky is black and we're walking on that instead." Draco said with a slow smile.

Both of them found it suddenly amusing to be talking about the reality of what's right in front of their face, with a Muggle who couldn't see half of what was really there. Who would certainly think them crazy to talk about 'magic' and spells and rituals.

"Figure we'd find a better world outside of this one?" Hermione said.

"Hardly. We'd still be there, wouldn't we?" Draco said, his voice twisting as he spoke.

"You think we're really all that awful, do you?" Hermione said.

Dodging the question, Draco said finally, "When you look at Truth, where do you put right and wrong?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's not that simple, really. Truth - truth is knowing where the choices are, not which way's right, not what path to take. Truth is grasping the possibility that you _can_ make a choice." Her eyes seemed to shine, glistening with fervor. _You can make a choice, you made one when you decided to talk with me._

"So truth doesn't tell you what's right, what's wrong?"

"People make awful choices, sometimes." Hermione said, drinking a bit of water. "Sometimes, there's only bad and worse." Her eyes met Draco's for a moment, as if acknowledging him.

"Occasionally, you have a shining, good choice that you can make, knowing that whatever else happens, you've done what's right." Hermione paused for a moment, "That's a rare thing, though. Talking a man off a ledge, convincing him to go home to his family rather than jump. Healing the rents in his heart. Maybe that."

"You don't think he'd be happier just falling?" Draco asked curiously.

"No, if he wanted to do that, he wouldn't be sitting on the ledge. He'd have dived, and enjoyed the free-fall. No, he wanted someone to care, to show him that someone's willing to listen."

"And the other choices?"

"There's rarely a person that likes to be the villain. Most people, even murderers, think they're doing what's right. An eye for an eye, after all, was a prohibitive system of justice. Like to like, no more - don't be excessive."

Draco found himself wondering what Snape would say to something like that - his godfather had a gift for turning arguments into discussions, and this one was rapidly turning into a quagmire. Draco thought that Snape's words would slice through this.

"Excessive force, deployed rapidly, can build wariness in your foes." Draco said suddenly.

"Yes, but it also stresses wariness in your could-be allies. Neutrals will avoid you as well." Hermione said.

"Better to be safe than sorry." Draco responded.

Hermione countered, with a smirk, "There's strength in numbers, though, and you will have few worthwhile allies if everyone fears you."

Draco's countenance darkened, as he thought of the Dark Lord. _Was that the problem? Did his parents really fear their 'Lord'?_ Quietly, he asks, "If not fear, then what?"

"Trust. Caring, if you can. Love, if you can pull that off." Hermione responded.

[a/n: write a review, lovelies!]


	32. Doesn't it hurt?

Draco Malfoy looked at the woman in front of him curiously, saying slowly, "Caring... doesn't it hurt?"

Hermione Granger smiled sadly, and nodded, "When people you care about die, it always hurts." She remembered losing her pet goldfish, and though it hadn't been a good pet (you couldn't even pet it), it had been hers, and it had cared - at least enough to beg for food.

"Sounds dangerous, then." Draco said, with a cutting smile.

"More dangerous not to care. The man standing on the ledge thinks he cares about no one, and that no one cares about him. Caring keeps you grounded, ties you to people - especially when it hurts." Hermione nodded, as if agreeing with herself.

"That's no way to command, but it sounds like a decent path to fight." Draco said slowly, an admiring smile just tracing the edges of his lips.

Hermione Granger simply looked appraisingly at him, wondering what the sort of commanders he'd had were like. Did they send out suicide squads? Was it the best path to simply sacrifice your men, if with care?

"Let's play a game." Draco Malfoy smiled at the way the woman's hair fell around her face - loose, but elegant at the same time.

Hermione Granger gave a slow, challenging smile, as she leaned forward, "I like games."

[a/n: Write me a review. Snape's still sitting outside, trying (and failing) to be nondescript. Which brings to mind whether he's actually trying at all.]


	33. Not a Straight Arrow Either of them!

Severus Snape sat outside the pub, on the other side of the street - drinking yet another cup of coffee. It was simply what he did, while he watched and waited. He hoped that there wouldn't be a Death Eater presence here tonight. He found the thought unlikely, but in the meantime, he could pretend to be out looking for Hermione Granger. And that job would keep him from being _locked_ up in Grimmauld Place - a house he might have liked, if only it hadn't the sheer quantities of _squalling_ Gryffindors!

Severus Snape paused, as he saw Mundungus Fletcher ambling his way, emerging out of an alley a few stores down. _Had Potter really been desperate enough to send Fletcher?_ Snape thought, as he scrambled for a reason to be here. As Fletcher approached, Snape scanned the crowd, finally seeing a man accepting a small packet of tea from his waitress. _Perfect_ Snape thought, as he smiled a very crooked smile. As Fletcher approached, Snape cast a wordless, wandless Imperio, dragging the man over. He held up a finger for silence from the curious Fletcher (who knew better than to interrupt when Snape was in a mood, and, really, when wasn't the acerbic man in a mood?). "Thank you," Snape said curtly, exchanging packet for a pouch that clinked with brass knuts. Turning to Fletcher, Snape purred softly, "Wolfsbane. Londoners have the best suppliers, did you know?" Without waiting for Fletcher's response, Snape stalked off, knowing that he'd have a difficult time crossing his own path tonight. Maybe he'd better _actually_ look for Death Eater Activity. Or at least some interesting oddity for him to investigate.

Fletcher spared not a glance at the storefronts, satisfied that Snape was doing Order Business, and was thus Not to be Disturbed. He ambled along, his mind on fags and other implements of self-destruction. Muggles had the best distractions known to mortal man.

**Yes, squal, as in storm squal.

[Both fletcher and Snape think of the Muggle world as a welcome relief from the Wizarding one. Interesting, isn't it?

Snape hasn't a scruple about Imperioing someone to give them money that they'd have accepted if asked. Just keeps it quieter this way.

Leave a Review (speaking of reviews: No, this story isn't going to be completely one conversation within the pub. That's the one I've _actually_ finished (and that's in a cave). Read it if you like).]


	34. Don't leave

"What's better, murder or rape?" Draco asked, his eyes glittering like sharp knives (or they would be, if Hermione Granger could see his actual eye color. Instead, they glittered like sapphires, and just as cold).

A slight smile traced Hermione's face, as she responded back, just as quick, "Murder, obviously. Rape leaves the person shattered long after the murder's buried."

Draco fought back a challenging smile, enjoying the quickness - and thoughtfulness- of the lass's answer. "Your turn," he demanded, the slight upturn of his lips betraying his amusement, and twisting the arrogant words into something less harmful.

"What's worse, the spoiled prince who steals a scone, or the starveling pauper who steals a diamond?" Hermione asked, her voice light.

"The prince, for he's already got everything, and probably hasn't a clue that there could be consequences to his actions. The pauper recognizes the risks, and takes them anyway." With a wry smirk, Draco thought that he could certainly remember a time when he had been that brashly arrogant. Not that he wasn't still arrogant, but he at least had learned some perspective.

"Your turn." Hermione said, her lips shaping the words enticingly in their deliberate slowness.

"What's better, a quick death that tells you nothing, or a slow excruciating death that gives you valuable insight?" Draco asked, his mind sorting through tales and history, as he combed them for incisive questions.

"A quick death." Hermione said, pausing momentarily - her eyes burned as she looked into Draco Malfoy's eyes. "You could never trust what's said under torture anyway. It's one thing to kill someone, sometimes even necessary... but torture? No."

Draco Malfoy nodded, satisfied with her answer. They continued in this manner for some time, shooting questions back and forth - if the questions were tricky, well, the answers got even more convoluted. They didn't notice the bar emptying out, nor the serving wench shooting them increasingly aggravated glances.

Finally, she came over, and said stiffly, "The pub is closing. You need to leave."

Hermione started, and began to stand, her face pinking in embarrassment.

Without thinking about it, Draco put a hand on her arm, gently restraining her. "Do you have rooms at this inn?"

"Of course, sir, that'll be twenty quid a night."

"Do you need payment upfront?"

"No, when you leave will be sufficient. You've run up quite a tab, you realize..." Draco, looking at the line of drinks, stiffly wondered exactly how much he had drunk. Alack, alas, it didn't matter - he had the money to pay, after all.

Hermione made to brush away at the hand on her arm, starting to open her mouth to excuse herself - her eyes clouding over with the troubled thoughts of how exactly she was going to enter Grimmauld Place again...

Draco looked at her, his hand tightening almost instinctively on her arm. _She's probably thinking she should be going now..._ "Please, don't leave - not yet, at any rate." Draco said, softly in that Welsh lilt that was his native tongue.

Hermione looked at the man beside her, her eyes involuntarily widening, "What-" She took a moment to study him, and continued, "What's wrong?"

Draco smirked a one-sided smirk, saying, "You'll think me a fool, and a drink addled one at that."

"Tell me." Hermione said, and her eyes and voice shone with her conviction.

"I don't like to be alone at night..." Draco said, half disbelieving he was telling anyone this. "I can... I can hear them howling..."

Hermione Granger looked at him, "What? Whatever do you mean?"

"It's silly - no, it's downright stupid."

"You can tell me."

"Fine" he said, and then struggled a moment to gather his courage, "werewolves." His eyes flashed and he said, "And before you tell me they aren't real, _I know that_."

Hermione had her answer, and she wasn't sure quite what to do about it. He had come from a region which really did believe in werewolves, way back in the villages. He'd probably listened to one too many tales when he was young. And you could see that he'd been through a lot - more than any young man should. Well, if Hermione wasn't sure exactly what she was going to do about it, she knew what she wasn't, and that was dismiss his fears.

"Okay, I'll come with." Hermione said stoutly, her robust voice ringing with conviction, "but only until you get settled."

Draco nodded a bit stiffly, and then gently guided Hermione up the stairs with a hand on her back.

[a/n: whenever you see something like the last chapter, you should have _expected_ something like this chapter. Write me a review.

If you're wondering why Hermione and Draco are discussing philosophy, it's literally the only thing that Draco can talk about without exposing how abominably ignorant he is about technology and current non-magical events.

In this continuity, the werewolves may as well be made up. Draco's only met Lupin, after all.]


	35. Mate

Draco Malfoy entered the room first, sitting on the bed gracefully, as if he always sat on muggle beds laced with string**. Closing the door, Hermione Granger stood awkwardly, inside the room, yet not really sure what she should do. Draco was merely glad she wasn't twisting her hands with worry. Really, he'd given her no reason to mistrust him. He saw her start towards the arrowslit window, and knew that he'd had enough of her indecisiveness.

"Sit down." Draco said, patting the bed beside him. Hermione Granger looked at him, halfwary and half-startled, as if she'd temporarily forgotten he was even there. Stiffly, she nodded, sitting primly on the bed beside the relaxed young man. Draco suppressed a smirk, as his arm gently folded over her shoulders. "There, that's better, isn't it?" His fingertips began drawing circles on her shoulder, as he said, "Tell me a little about yourself. Just - just anything." He lowered his eyes, hiding a blush that crept over his cheeks, staining them ruddy. As Hermione turned toward him, he found himself realizing just how close they were together, and looking at her full lips with interest.

* * *

Ron Weasley had had enough, it seemed. Harry watched thoughtfully as Ron began to kick, and pace, and scuff his feet. Words would come later, Harry thought. Harry, of course, had been worried since he noticed Hermione was missing. Not ron, though. Harry pursed his lips in thought. Why hadn't ron been worried? It had been so unlike Hermione to stalk off - that... was... generally Ron. Oh. Of course. Daft idiot. Harry suppressed an entirely inappropriate smirk. Ron had waited just long enough for himself to come sulking back before he began to genuinely worry about Hermione. And Harry could see the simmer of Ron's anger slowly rising to a boil. Harry'd rarely seen Ron angry at himself (he was generally too selfrighteous for that), but when it happened, it was a doozy. Still, Harry thought with a bit of chagrin, Ron put up with Harry's moods, and occasionally could do something to make them better.

* * *

Hermione and Draco were in an animated discussion about the pros and cons of having animal companions, and they had drawn closer to each other as they argued. Their lips were inches apart, and Draco was staring at Hermione's lips as if they were forbidden treats. _Dash it all, I'm going to regret this in the morning._ Draco thought, as he bent in gently, and kissed her. A moment lengthened into the space of ten heartbeats and then he was pulling back, just a bit, and telling her, "Stop arguing." His hand ran gently down her jawbone, his other hand - after brief deliberation - curling around her back, pulling her closer to him.

It wasn't the gentle kiss - so unlike Ron's eagerness, that silenced Hermione Granger ("Master of Too Many Words" her inner Snape voice catcalled), it was the gentleness, the almost hesitancy of the shy young man in front of her. The careful delicacy that said, "you can tell me when." And those eyes, that shone with a deepseated desire - it caught at her breath, made her breathing hitch with sudden awareness.

Feeling rather daring, Draco Malfoy ran his hands down from her shoulders, his mouth pressed demandingly against hers. Her eyes widened, but she didn't draw back - and Draco felt his heaviness, his body informing him that it had been rather a while (what with everyone being in his house, privacy had been less than easy to come by). Eagerly, his hands and his mouth pressed her back down onto the bed, with a rather loud creak.

* * *

Ron was shouting, howling, saying "I didn't mean her to get in trouble! Honest! How was I supposed to know?"

Harry Potter wasn't sure how to respond to this, as anyone with a drop of sense knew that Ron Weasley wasn't a terribly good thinker. Harry knew that he'd have managed to get Hermione to not storm out, but then again... It was Ron. Things like this happened when it was Ron.

The solid oak desk had taken quite a few kicks, and Ron's words were slowly turning into Snapes, him calling himself a dunderhead, an idiot and a moron. Among other things. Harry could tell that Ron was sincerely worried sick about his ... friend.

* * *

That hand between Hermione's thighs felt so good, tingly, sending electric tingles across her toes. "Shh... Shh..." he said, as he lifted her feet off the floor and over her head, her dress falling in a circle around her, as he climbed on top of her, slowly sliding her pants down to midthigh...

[a/n: Okay, anyone unclear why I spent so much time on the downstairs part? One has to build up to people doing really stupid things.

And yes, I do realize neither of them have asked the other their name.

Write a review!]

**Draco's Muggle Studies readings are a bit out of date.


	36. An Oddity

Harry reflected that it was strange that the more upset Ron got, the calmer Harry himself felt. Well, honestly, it wasn't all that weird. Harry was the type to do something stupid in anger (He had learned this about himself, over years of painstaking observation, and a whole lot of "why the heck did I do that!?" in response to the bruises he'd received at his cousin's fists). So, Harry was hopeful, in fact, that Hermione wasn't in terribly much trouble. Worried? Yes, but mostly that Hermione Granger would run into something that she couldn't handle. And since, after some undignified pleading, Snape had consented to look for Death Eaters, Harry Potter thought Hermione would have to run into a deep spot of bad luck to not be able to get out of a sticky situation...

* * *

Hermione Granger woke early, as she often did. This time, however, she woke to a distinct smell, and looked around at the room where she was in. Rather belatedly, she realized that there was an hand resting between her breasts, and that she was feeling a tad sore down there. Within moments, the events of last night came rushing back. _Oh shit!_ Hermione Granger thought, her thoughts as usual quite uncensored within the privacy of her own skull. _Harry's going to be worried sick!_ Shaken out of her relaxed, nearly content lassitude by the thought of her distressed friend, she dressed hurriedly. She took one last glance backward, her hand on the door, when she saw the young man she had talked to last night. Slept with, she corrected herself. She pressed a hand on his exposed shoulder, and then tucked him up under the blanket. And without another noise, she opened the door, and traipsed hurriedly down the stairs - as she walked down the stairs, she felt a squish from the direction of between her legs, and she hoped it wouldn't run down her leg.

* * *

Ron Weasley was pacing, his anxiety driving him towards... - knowing he couldn't leave, couldn't search for Hermione. Really, he wanted to run out and start shouting her name, running through the streets until she said something (He realized if he tried it that Gred and Forge would sit on him until he stopped). Ron knew she had gotten upset (why, he didn't know, but he felt sure she'd explain, if he could only get her to come back).

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke sleepily, wondering why he was waking at all, his body feeling like rubber. Belatedly, he realized that he was in bed alone. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be surprised or not - maybe this was how Muggles did it? Still, he sat halfway up, resting his head on his hand, bracing his body with his elbow on the bed, he couldn't help but feel wistful. It was morning, and he'd sleepily wanted another go... With a sigh, he lay back down, smelling her citrus scent mingling with his own.

* * *

As the door opened, Harry looked up from where he had been sitting, aimlessly pondering his black shoes (this was better than staring at Ron, who's pacing had been making him dizzy). Admit one Severus Snape, stalking in his usual fashion, and glaring at Harry to boot. "Any news?" Harry asked (a dash quieter than he normally would, as the door wasn't closed completely.

Harry was disappointed that the outside world did not disgorge Hermione's bushy haired form, as Severus Snape deliberately shut the door firmly, before answering. "Nothing from my contacts."

Ron Weasley made a great clumping noise as he raced down the stairs, yelling, "Did you find her?" with a remarkable degree of "I don't care that It's snape I"m talking to." due mostly to his worry, and only secondarily to his guilt.

"No, I'm relatively certain that Miss Granger has simply gone home to her parents, to have a good cry." Severus Snape looked down on the two Gryffindors, aimlessly noting their relatively lack of cohesiveness, which was a relative oddity. Were they having a bit of a spat too? He thought with a mild sneer that he didn't allow to show.

The door opened quietly behind Severus Snape, and Harry leaped to his feet at the sight of Hermione, safe and sound. "Ahh... Miss Granger, back from your parents so soon? Did your mother hold you while you had a good cry?" Snape's voice purred with derision, as he mentally thought, _Take the hint, you blasted twit._ Snape's nose caught the unmistakeable odour of fornication wafting off the silly bint. _Shite_ was his only thought, as he wanted to bury his head in his hands. _Neither of you used protection... Draco wouldn't even know he was **supposed** to use protection._ **

Alas, it was not to be. Hermione Granger had no sooner opened her mouth than Ron Weasley dodged around Severus Snape's lanky form, "You - you slag! You went and slept with someone else!"

Severus Snape was inwardly quite displeased. He normally hated stopping arguments, and all the worse when it was an unruly gang of Gryffindors. However, the Wizarding World's Saviour would be unlikely to actually reach the age of majority (let alone actually kill the Dark Lord), without some assistance from his friends. And thus, Severus Snape, spy and blackguard, was forced to intervene in an adolescent quarrel. "Miss Granger, did you perhaps sleep with a childhood friend? Someone to hug and comfort you when your so-called friends refused to do what any friend justly ought?" _Take the hint, you bloody Gryffindor. It's a blasted white lie, for god's sake._

"No, sir." Hermione Granger said, meeting his gaze levelly. "I did have intercourse with someone." Looking at Weasley, she said sternly, "You're not my boyfriend, you don't deserve an apology."

"You, you whore!" Ron Weasley said, as his hands balled into fists. Hermione Granger's hair had started to flicker with little zaps of electricity, her glare a much more fierce and dangerous thing than Ron's.

"Weasley, leave now." Severus Snape said in a soft tone, almost conversationally. The purposeful venom, however, had Weasley up the stairs within a moment - and Potter, shooting Snape an almost absentminded glare, close behind.

Hermione Granger let out a shaky sigh, saying softly, "That could have gone better."

To which Snape dearly wanted to respond, _yes, if you learned to lie, even just a bit to unbend that stick up your arse._ Instead, he responded, just as softly, "Indeed, Miss Granger, indeed." Snape strode quickly off towards the library, meaning to see just how quickly everyone would forget about him so that he could _get the hell out of there_.

**um. rubbers. Draco Malfoy has been schooled as to the proper magical way to have proper intercourse, but being without a wand...

[a/n: Fallout. Not just a video game anymore. Draco's still sleeping soundly...

Leave a review.]


	37. Snape's Eye View

Severus Snape seethed in the library, wanting very badly to demolish something. Stupid, stupid Gryffindors! Years of dealing with the Dark Lord and Albus had inured him to his own anger - he simply balled it up inside him, squishing it down to a filbert in size. Having done that, he listened carefully. It seemed that the youngest male Weasley was still yelling (and Potter had headed up to "calm him down", hadn't he?) Better him than me, Snape thought with some satisfaction. Let the young Potter get tears and snot all over his shoulder - or better yet, get punched out for bothering his intemperate friend. Snape frowned slightly, as he listened a bit more carefully. There were the usual noises from the kitchen (apparently Molly Weasley hadn't heard exactly what her son had called his "best friend"). No crying? Finding himself more than usually curious, he headed up the stairs, soft enough to not make them creak unduly. Not a sound. Raising an eyebrow to himself, he wondered if Granger was simply reading, before accidentally thinking that there might be other pleasures she might be pursuing. Hastily banishing the thought from his mind, he headed downstairs quickly.

He paused, lightly, before entering the study again, noting that no one was especially watching him. Still, he put up a quick ward to banish eavesdroppers into the Thames (it was one of the few he could do wandlessly, as he had used it often enough to deal with Black and his crew - a simple thought of the glee he had enjoyed would inspire the ward's construction) before muttering to himself the Malfoy's London Home as he strode into the Floo. _I have to get there before Malfoy does, or he'll never admit anything._ Otherwise, he'd never have used the floo - it was simply too dangerous to admit to the Order what he was doing to help out his Slytherins. They wouldn't understand, anyway.

Snape strode out of the Malfoy's floo as if he hadn't just been spun around, a wordless thought clearing all the ash off himself. Looking at the two brutes on the couch, and the three girls braiding their hair at the table, Snape inwardly smirked, as he growled, "Where is Draco Malfoy?"

The entire room paused, falling as silent as a tomb. It wasn't the normal response Snape got from his Slytherins, but he relished it nonetheless (truth be told, he wouldn't want it _all_ the time). He wasn't surprised that the two elephants didn't feel the need to speak, but the twittering birds - well, he had at least expected Pansy to say something. Wait - were they blushing?

Finally, after a pause of at least fifteen seconds, Crabbe shrugged and said, "Out."

"Explain." Snape said commandingly, and - _finally_ \- Pansy Parkinson started showing some of the discipline that had convinced Snape to make her a prefect.

"He left yesterday. About midmorning. I didn't see exactly when - I was settling a small dispute with the Greengrasses." The strength of the glare she shot at Daph and Tori left no doubt in Snape's mind that it had been more than a minor disagreement.

"And no one thought to tell me?" Snape snarled.

"Of course we did," Tori said mildly. "But we didn't know how to reach you safely. Look, here's the letter."

Snape tried hard not to look mollified, knowing that it was a loosing proposition from the start. Finally, he sat on the couch, crossing his lanky legs as he crossly waited for his godson to show up. _If he doesn't show up, I am going to draw his guts for garters._

[a/n: interstitial piece, Snape's perspective. Write me a review?]


	38. Waking the dragon in time

Draco woke up to the feeling of cold on his ankles. And calves, and knees. He sat up blearily, letting the room spin around him for a moment before blinking owlishly at the world around him. _Where am i?_ He thought, _And why does my head hurt so much?_ Stifling a yawn, he at last oriented himself. Muggle. Room. Inn. Drinking. Lovely lady-muggle. That last one caught at his attention, as he made a moue (Malfoys did not pout, his mother had been quite strict on that point) - she was gone. He vaguely concluded that he missed the feeling of her warmth in his arms. He listened quietly, careful not to move a muscle. _Not coming back, then._ he thought, and as his thoughts turned darker, his mordant question echoed in his skull, _Why didn't I even get her name?_ Draco succumbed to drowsiness, and the very clear insistence of his body that excessive movement would be quite painful indeed. As he lay down, he buried his nose where she had slept, inhaling the mixture of her scent and the citrus scent of her arousal.

* * *

An hour later, Draco woke with the pressing sensation of a bladder that needs to be emptied. Knowing there was no way he was sleeping past this, he stood and walked to the loo (luckily dodging any other patrons who might be startled at his lack of dress or decorum). He shook his head as he held himself, waiting for his morning wood to subside so that he could whizz. He hadn't meant to stay out this long - Pansy would be worried. She'd not know how to help if he had been in trouble, Draco was well aware, but it did slightly warm his normally cold heart to think of her fleeting concern (he didn't for a moment think she'd miss her beauty sleep waiting up for him). Draco returned to his room without incident, and proceeded to get dressed. Glancing for only a second into the mirror, he realized that his clothes were rumpled, and that his hand dragging over his hair only succeeded in - _Blast! I didn't want to look like Potter this morning!_

Feeling undone - that precise feeling of "I'm not ready yet", Draco Malfoy strolled down the stairs, settling his rather lengthy tab (had he really drunk all that?) and paying for the room without incident (he could tell because the look on the wench's face was grateful and not startled or hateful.)*

He mimicked the stride of a businessman, the brusque nodding as he headed back to his parents apartment. The visage was contagious, and by the time he was heading up the stairs to the flat, his mien was that of a fully entitled, "things to do" businessman. At least it was until he stepped in the door, and caught sight of Professor Snape sitting on his couch as if he had been visiting.

 _Shite._

*Draco overpaid.

[Apparently Draco decided that wandering in the buff was appropriate behavior for an inn with a single loo. Either that or, since he won't be recognized, he could just behave as he willed.

This scene is dedicated to the countless hourslong discussions I have had with members of the opposite sex, in which we never bothered to learn each other's name

Snape said I had to end it there. Hate him, not me. If you want more of this story, leave a review!].


	39. Dressing Down

Snape stood gracefully, his face blank. Draco debated whether he could manage to disappear down the steps in time - before deciding it was ultimately not worth it even if he could. Snape would find him anyhow - and, truthfully, he owed Snape.

Draco Malfoy, aside from a brief moment of shock, schooled his face to stillness, as he said obligingly, "Godfather, what a pleasure to see you. I apologize that I was not able to greet you upon your arrival."

Snape stalked forward, quiet as a cat, as he snapped, "And why is that, godson? Have you been gallivanting with Muggles?"

Draco pursed his lips slightly, dodging the question with a quiet, "I needed some air."

Snape loomed over his godson's not inconsiderable height. "Perhaps I did not make myself perfectly clear. You are not to leave this dwelling except in most dire need. Did you perhaps think that wandering about alone and unprotected was some sort of blasted holiday?"

"I apologize, godfather. I did not mean to worry you." Draco Malfoy said, cursing himself for a fool - why had he believed that Snape wouldn't have a monitoring spell up?

"In the future, you shall not have the opportunity." Snape snapped a quick deglamouring spell at Draco, restoring his original, platinum appearance. And then Snape began to cast, his toes tracing a runic path on the floor.

"I have integrated an alarm ward into this place. In the event that any of its residents choose to leave, it will alert me. You are not to wander off for no rational reason, or there will be painful consequences." Snape's glare was briefly diverted from Draco to encompass the rest of the room.

"Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, godfather. May I retrieve my wand?" Draco said politely.

"You may." Snape said.

By the time Draco had returned, Snape was gone. In his place, the lovely ladies had the most delighlfully gossipy expressions on their faces Draco realized that avoiding them would be next to impossible, in these close quarters. The looks the Greengrass sisters bestowed upon him promised sweetness. Pansy merely looked like f she didn't get answers, she'd kill him.

[a/n: wriite a review.]


	40. A looong summer

Draco forced himself not to quail as the female Slytherin contingent sent him predatory looks. He found himself wondering - _They don't know, do they? If - if Snape knew, he'd have said something - please, don't let them know._ Instead, he stood regally, as if the girls were utterly beneath him.

Daphne crossed her legs, and said in a mild voice that dripped poison (Draco knew this from long association - she tended to be cutting and cruel normally - this meek and mild disposition rang as true as the Queen's rubies*), "You smell like spring, Draco." At that comment, Tori aimed a swift slippered kick at Daphne's shin. Pansy's eyes said it all - _We need to talk privately,_ _ **now**_ _._

All in all, it added up to one thing: They know.

Pansy's sweet smile drew his attention, as he looked at her. Draco felt a frisson of fear at that look - it was one that the Borgia's had used. His father had made certain that he had seen it in a penseive. "Draco, may I have a word?"

"I believe you just had several, in fact." Draco said calmly, his aristocratic drawl neatly masking his scrambling thoughts. There wasn't enough space here for a private chat, anyway. Too many people, and Slytherins loved to spy. And gossip - at least amongst themselves. And any real explanation of Draco's whereabouts would cause a cataphract of gossip, plunging him in to a deep pool at the bottom. He might not manage to rise to the surface before he expired.

"In private, if you will?" Pansy said, her voice gentle velvet over iron.

"I'm afraid that's not possible right now." Draco belatedly realized that Pansy hadn't thought of that, and realized he'd have to neatly suggest that, in such a way that she came up with it herself. "I find myself in a bit of dishabille, and all I can really think about is freshening up." Pansy sent him a skeptical glare that told Draco that she was sure he was bamboozling her. Still, she didn't actively throw herself on him, in order to stop him. _Probably thinks she can worm something out of me later. And she's right, she does deserve to know... later. Outside these walls. And, particularly, after I figure out where the bleedin' Wild Hunt has dropped me. I hardly recognize myself, let alone my surroundings._ **

As Draco Malfoy stood in the shower, running his hands over his whipcord body, he thought back to the night before - his lower half showing a persistent interest that he took care of, before leaving the shower and flopping (in a most unMalfoylike fashion) on his bed. _What do I do now?_

*Queen's rubies are all garnets. What did you think Narcissa was drilling into his head?

**Draco's being a bit metaphorical here. Suffice it to say that it was rather beyond his comprehension, the day before yesterday, that he'd have had a night like the one he encountered last.

[a/n: Leave a review! Pity Draco, his summer's going to be hell. Ice to one side, Flames on the other.]


	41. Gloom and Doom

Hermione was upstairs, on the third floor between the eaves. She was in a horrible, horrible mood - even Crooks, her cat, wasn't able to shake it out of her, and he was trying - batting at a nearly demolished cattoy. Ron had said _things_ to her... things she'd never _dreamed_ of hearing with reference to herself. Not from Snape, not from Malfoy, not from Voldemort, even. Hermione had been on the bleedin' edge of his temper before - but, this wasn't right. What he had said to her wasn't right. No one should have called her that, ever. She wasn't... wasn't a whore...

Hermione shook her head, wanting to cry and yet holding the tears inside. For Ron to have said that... it made her wonder if he was ever really her friend, or if he just hung around her because Harry liked her. Well, if Harry even liked her. Maybe they just really liked free homework?

Hermione shook her head again, knowing deep in her heart of hearts that she was a natural nag, as inquisitive about people as things. And as happy to help people do what's best. How could anyone like her? Want to be her friend?

And Harry was busy comforting Ron. His best friend. Hermione had always sort of known that they had a bond that she didn't share in. And now Harry was proving it, by telling Ron just what an awful person Hermione was! "You know how she is, Ron." Harry would say.

Crooks batted at the cattoy, sending it the whole way down the stairs. Hermione listened closely as he bounded down them.

Hermione stiffened, standing and looking out the arrowslit window into the driving rain. She should know better than this, she told herself sternly. Harry Potter was her friend - he wasn't the one screaming hateful things the instant she came in the door. Harry was probably just trying to make sure that Ron didn't make the situation worse. Harry was like that - really, she had known him for years; she knew exactly what he'd be thinking about.

How to fix things.

The small problem with that was that Hermione wasn't sure they could be fixed. Or if she really wanted them fixed, anyway. What sort of a friend, no matter how angry, calls their best friend a _whore_?

[a/n: Readers are invited to comment on exactly how quickly Hermione has reverted from considering Ron a somewhat selfish boyfriend into being a "best friend." Or, well, write what you like (but do write. I love reviews!).

Hermione's doing a bit of feeling sorry for herself here, and we've all been adolescents, so we've been there too.]


	42. Too early to sleep

Draco Malfoy wasn't tired, and even though his head hurt (and not just from the hangover, thank you very much), he decided to emerge from his room before the girls got up the nerve to get Crabbe to knock the door down. Maybe he ought to try to get Goyle to say something? Just thinking about it, he was already down on all fours, creeping catlike towards the main room. He slipped into the washroom, his grey eyes and platinum hair peeking out as he assessed the situation.

The girls were glaring knives at each other - all three of them, and that didn't look likely to abate anytime soon. Well, without outside interference, at any rate. Most likely they were all blaming each other for his unscheduled rendevous - which was quite all right with him, as they were all at fault. Frowning quietly, he amended that - they were all at fault, but the Greengrass sisters hadn't a reason for their scheming, so they were twice as much at fault as Pansy. Twice her weight too.

Crabbe and Goyle were nearer to him, sitting on a sofa. Crabbe was juggling his wand, and Goyle was staring... at nothing in particular. Draco Malfoy was about to change that, if he did _nothing_ else constructive with the day.

Light as a feather, or an owl in the wind, he traipsed behind the couch, folding his ring and little finger down, and then raising his hand. With the lightest of touches, he _stroked_ Goyle's earlobe. Goyle shot out of the chair, gasping soundlessly in astonishment. Draco frowned, having hoped that it would be enough for his ... friend... to say something.

Nevermind that, Draco thought crossly, he would just have to try harder.

Goyle, recovering from fright, looked curiously at the overstuffed couch - as Crabbe was trying to contain his laughter. Goyle walked slowly towards the couch, kneeling on it to look behind it. As Goyle's face bent close enough to see Draco's arse, Draco raised two fingers - poking straight at Goyle's eyes. Goyle toppled backward, and at this point the girls took notice, tuttutting at the notoriously clumsy boy.

Judging that Goyle's reaction boded ill, Crabbe looked warily behind himself, before also rising. Goyle, on the other hand, was standing stiffly - apparently even his dignity could be assaulted successfully. With stiff and powerful movements, Goyle again kneeled on the couch - ready this time for Draco's hands reaching up. Quicker than you'd have believed, Goyle seized his small friend's hands by the wrists and hauled him up until his toes could barely touch the floor. And all this without saying a word.

Draco frowned, thinking that he'd need to devise a more cunning scheme to make Goyle say something, anything. This silence from his normally talkative friend was growing intolerable.

Crabbe looked at Draco, dangling almost like a child, and began to laugh.

"Draco, dear, would you care to have a seat? We still have some tepid tea if you're really quite thirsty?" Daphne asked with suspicious formality and even more suspicious grace.

"Yes, I do believe that would be lovely. If you'll excuse me, Gregory?" Draco said, in tones of forced politeness.

Gregory Goyle, far from releasing Draco Malfoy, hauled him up by the wrists, his feet dangling in the air, as he physically walked his smaller friend to the chair (that Astoria helpfully held out for him.) Goyle then plonked Malfoy into the chair, his hands on his hips and a glare on his square face. The visage said _ **Sit** _ far better than words could. Draco Malfoy couldn't help but admire it.

[a/n: write a review. If this chapter doesn't remind you a little of Sirius Black, you have no soul.]


	43. In a snit and proud of it

Hermione Granger went to bed that night having strode into the kitchen without so much as a by your leave to get lunch and dinner. She would not let herself be intimidated by the prospect of finding Ronald at the table. She wouldn't, and so she didn't, and she was ... mostly okay with that.

What she wasn't okay with was her friend Harry. He spent the entire day with Ronald, and she didn't like it. Her mind turned on things that she shouldn't think, and played with deeds that she dared not even contemplate... seriously. A harmless amusement like imagining stringing her friend up by his toes was certainly okay, so long as she didn't actually act on it. Or tell him.

The next morning, Hermione's door was rudely interrogated by Harry's hand. Well, strictly speaking, Hermione didn't know it was Harry. But really, who else would knock on her door, and at such an hour? (It wasn't earlier than 8, but they had all gotten used to sleeping in till at least nine).

Hermione sat up, and said loudly, "No!"

Harry Potter continued knocking at the door, undeterred. From outside, he was heard to yell, "Her-mi-o-ne!" In that particular brand of urgent whining that only Harry Potter could pull off. Well, at some point Ronald had also had the tendency, but he wasn't someone she was likely to listen to at the moment, now was he? Hermione frowned, thinking of when she had first discovered that her name was grating, irritating, and perfectly suited to a whine. As a child, she had thought her name perfectly melodic - she had certainly _never_ given her parents reason to whine at her, nor her classmates, nor her teachers. Harry's name didn't sound so dreadful, she thought, kicking her foot and tossing the blankets up and down.

"Hermione!" Harry called urgently, and Hermione belatedly remembered that her best friend was quite as stubborn as she was, and likely to be more determined to wake the entire house than to let her go peacefully back to sleep. Standing, still clad in her nightclothes, Hermione strode towards the door.

"What?" Hermione spat, "No, I know what you're going to say already. The answer is no, Harry. Don't ask me to tell you it again." And Hermione pulled her face back inside the cracked door, slamming it... on Harry's foot.

"Oww!" Harry howled, "Did you have to do that so bloody hard!?"

Hermione was not going to apologize. Oh, no she wasn't. Not even by opening the door a wee bit. No, she was going to watch her best friend howl in pain, and then coldly advise him to go away.

"I'm sorry, Harry. But, please, don't talk to me." Hermione said, opening the door a bit to let Harry get his foot out.

Harry had other ideas, squeezing - somehow - through the nearly closed door, and nodding firmly, as he pushed himself backwards, closing the door.

Hermione blinked, belatedly realizing that Harry had taken her demand not to talk with her completely seriously. Or was playing it straight, which she really hoped he wasn't doing as her patience was nearing an end.

Harry turned toward the door, setting a nice silencing spell that Hermione realized she had taught him, way back when he only had the graveyard to have nightmares about.

Harry turned around, gave Hermione a nod, and then sat in the corner, looking at her.

Hermione, still rather ticked at Harry, shrugged at him, and then nestled under the covers. If Harry was going to be quiet, she was going to get some sleep. Perhaps he wouldn't be there when she woke next. One could hope.

[a/n: yep. pretty childish here. nope, not going to last, but I think Hermione's at least got a little reason for being upset. Harry's well capable of outstubborning Hermione Granger when it comes to friendship, though.

Leave a review!]


	44. Immutable rock meets Unstoppable force

Draco Malfoy woke that morning cross as could be, which was really quite considerable when you took the idea that he was in Slytherin and not Hufflepuff. He stood, washed and dressed, and ventured out of his room to brave...

 ** _The Inquisition_**

Draco was perfectly well aware that he was making a rather bigger deal of this than the circumstances actually warranted. But then again, so was everyone else. Pansy, as well as the Greengrass sisters, wanted to know just exactly what had happened. Draco knew them well, well enough to know that they'd not be satisfied without some shaggy dog story or another. However, Draco Malfoy didn't intend to give them a dram, a jot, or even an iota of what had occurred. And, for reasons that seemed to escape him, he had also decided not to lie.

As to that last, it was probably because they were Slytherin, and would spot a lie from a hundred meters. Not that they'd judge him a mountebank for the slip, just that it would look highly suspicious.

Staying quiet was safer, at least for now. From the pursed lip look that Pansy was giving him, she was fully wroth at him. As he sat gracefully in his chair and prepared to ring the bell for breakfast service, Pansy plopped in his lap, without a word.

Oh, so it was that game, was it? Draco Malfoy thought crossly. Pansy was infuriated with his refusal to talk with her, and thus was giving him the silent treatment. To make matters more awkward, she thought the silent war would be best conducted from within his own lap. At least she wasn't squirming.

As Draco calmly rang the bell (insouciantly ignoring the jealous looks of the Greengrass girls), Pansy squeaked at the mountain of food that Draco's elf left in the middle of the table.

Apparently Draco had spoken too soon, as Pansy squirmed in her unbecoming haste to consume as much of the crepes Suzette as possible.

It was going to be a long day.

[a/n: The boys are eating. They're just less intrusive about the whole bit. Leave a review!]


	45. Up in Hermione's Room

Harry Potter was looking through Hermione's Ancient Runes book when she woke. Or rather, that's what he instantly pretended to be doing. Hermione knew better, she had seen him stash the pen in his hair. "Harry James Potter," she said crossly, "Were you just doodling in my ancient runes book?"

Harry instantly looked crestfallen, and said, almost sullenly, "I...um... got a little bored."

"And you think that gives you the right to Doodle in my Books?" Hermione hollered.

"No." said Harry meeting her eyes calmly - using that tone of voice that never failed to get Ron into a snit, but could calm Hermione out of anything. "I'm your friend, after all. And it's just a book." Harry's green eyes were saying more than Hermione really wanted to read out of them - so of course she calmly noted down what he had to say, and then pushed it aside. Hermione Granger was more in the mood for scrapping than making up, anyway.

"That, Harry Potter, Is a Schoolbook. That means that I'll be reading out of it with a teacher looking over my shoulder. And I don't want doodles of snitches and brooms in my schoolbook!" Hermione said sternly.

Harry smiled a small smile, "I'd never do that, not to a Hermione Granger schoolbook. No, I was tracing some of the runes, seeing what they looked like in combination. I may not be in the class, but a books a book - and you were asleep and there really wasn't anything better to do." How did Harry always manage to be so awkwardly charming? Hermione thought crossly. Still, it was hard to be cross with him.

"Was there anything that you needed help with?" Hermione asked. Their conversation devolved into the distinctions between elder and younger futharks, and they had quite a spirited discussion of Beowulf (leave it to Harry to be interested in anything that involved fighting) going before it was time for lunch.

"What may I get you, good mistress?" Harry said, to Hermione's giggles at his shabby, rakish bow.

"A spot of stew, and some collard greens." Hermione said with one last giggle.

Harry spent the rest of the day acting as Hermione's shield, doing a good deal to restore Hermione's tattered belief in their friendship. Hermione had known, after all, that Harry prized his friends. But that's a far different thing from feeling it, in your heart.

Before the end of the night, Harry gathered Hermione's hands into his own, and said, "Hermione." in that serious tone he very rarely used.

Dreading what he was going to say, Hermione looked at him with wide brown eyes. "Yes?" she said primly.

"There's something you have to understand." Harry said gravely.

"What's that?" Hermione said, wishing she had the stalwart and phlegmatic disposition of a Malfoy or a Snape, to not feel the butterflies in her stomach.

"Ron was really, really worried about you. I haven't ever seen him that worried, and that counts when his sister was ... gone." Harry said, his green eyes luminous in the twilight of the dimly lit room.

Hermione's eyes hardened, and she said, "It doesn't matter, Harry."

"I know. I had to say so, anyway. You're both my friends, and you know how I hate it when..." Harry let the words trail off, and Hermione nodded.

"He shouldn't have said what he did."

"Too right."

"It's Ron. This isn't the first time he's said something completely, horrendously over the top." Harry said, his eyes pleading.

"It may well be the last, at least to me." Hermione said coldly.

Harry nodded, almost whispering a quiet, "We'll see."

[a/n: Harry is not having a fun week. Feel sorry for Harry, folks.

or just write me a review!]


	46. Early Risers

Hermione had always been early to rise - there was something about the crisp stillness of the autumn air that called to her. Not that it was autumn, of course, but still... The morning's chill was the pleasantest time to be awake in muggy London, during the heat of summer. Oh, sure, Hermione was well aware that London wasn't terribly hot compared to other places - it was hardly Egypt, after all.

But oh, the humidity!

Lying in her bed, she shifted, thinking back to _that night_. That youngman - _how_ had she not asked his name? With a jerk, she slapped her pillow atop her face in embarrassment. She... she really wanted to see him again. Hermione frowned, honest with herself if with no one else - yes, she wanted to see him _like that_ as well, but... she found herself wondering what those bright blue eyes would look like, if they weren't consumed by darkness and doubts.

Longingly, Hermione shook her head, chiding herself at the rather spurious inclination to sneak out and go back to the tavern. He was from Wales - or someplace else. Far away. He'd given no sign - not one - that he was staying past the morning. Still, there was some foolish idea in the back of her head that said - just look!

Shaking her head, she thought back to that morning. Harry had actually asked Snape to look for her? And Snape had agreed? That... that couldn't be right, she thought. Maybe Harry had tried to get Lupin to look for her - or, well, anyone but Snape. Hermione Granger could see Snape's nasty mug cruelly cutting down Harry's choice, before resignedly (with more than a touch of mordant humor) agreeing to look in someone else's stead. Harry hated Snape and the feeling was quite mutual. And Hermione Granger was far from in Snape's good books. It didn't... didn't seem possible. How had Harry managed it? Hermione thought crossly to herself. Well, I'm just going to have to ask. Not Snape of course, that would be seen as insolent, I'm sure.

* * *

Draco Malfoy lay on his bed, letting the morning light filter through his curtains. He yawned, stretching, enjoying the first moment of peace and quiet he'd had in days. The rest of the Slytherins seemed to have gotten the idea that if he wasn't constantly engaged - call it bothered, which is what it really was - he'd be in the wind and nobody to stop him. Nevermind that Professor Severus Snape had neatly sealed the door against even the most cunning of slips - and no matter how stircrazy Draco Malfoy got, he was not going to leave out the window. Besides being poor form, it would certainly draw the attention of Muggles. And who knew what they'd think - or do, to someone so out of the ordinary as crawling down a drainpipe? Draco Malfoy certainly had no reason to want to spend the day in gaol.

Still, Draco thought softly, he's like to see that maid again - woman, he corrected himself. Her eyes had gleamed in the darkness of the room they had briefly shared together, bright with a tinge of pain, and yet shining with quiet strength. He wanted her... now. He wanted to see those bright eyes again. He hadn't really realized it at the time, of course - but finding someone who would actually take him seriously - not toss off after a question or two, or deflect with a cut or a jibe. It had felt wonderful to verbally tussle - not having to watch his words, or hers.

He wanted to see her again, he thought, collapsing down onto the bed with a longsuffering sigh.

He wasn't sure whether her leaving before he had even woken up meant something - anything at all. Was that normal? Certainly no one at the inn seemed to care, but Draco wouldn't be surprised if that wasn't a studious "None of My Business, so long as you Pay" policy kept neat and trim. Was she upset? Did she leave in tears? Did she press a kiss to my brow? Did she try to wake me up?

He didn't even know her name.

[a/n: mushy mushy. Yeah, I know, it's been multiple _days_.

Leave me a review.]


	47. Unexpected yet somehow obvious question

Hermione had nestled back in to reading that day, and the next day had dawned before she realized that she'd be spending it with Harry. Because, of course, Harry her dear friend had decided that he had to spend equal and opposite amounts of time with his friends that repulsed each other. Mmmmagentism! Hermione giggled at the reference.*

Harry was trying to pretend that he really could study as diligently as Hermione. It was obvious after about twenty minutes that it wasn't the case, and Hermione hastily got out her defense against the Dark Arts book, and began quizzing Harry. They settled into a more comfortable rhythm, but Hermione couldn't help but see Harry eyeing her curiously - and repeatedly. Just when she thought he had stopped, he would do it again.

It was nervewracking.

It was also nearly time for lunch, Hermione realized, as Harry got up, turning to her and saying, "What would you like for lunch?"

He said it as if it didn't matter, as if Harry wasn't saying that he'd put himself between her and Ronald Weasley. Harry was so sweet! Hermione thought for a moment, before abruptly standing, "You know, I have absolutely no idea! Let's find out together, shall we?" Hermione gracefully offered Harry her arm,which, after a second's awkward pause, he took in his.

Together they moved awkwardly down the stairs; Hermione was secretly glad that Ron didn't see them like that, as he'd likely have laughed his arse off. Alongside each other, they entered the kitchen, where Ginevra was sitting, eating a storm as she often did - and there was Ron. Hermione's eyes stopped at him and moved no farther. Her eyes were full - of flame, not tears. Hermione did not nod. She did not smile. She only turned back to Harry and looked at him, saying, "I didn't ask - what do you want to eat?"

"Pancakes!" Harry said with a laugh.

"For lunch! Surely, my lord would prefer crepes instead..." Hermione mocked with an aristocratic air.

"Of course, my lady, of course." Harry said, choking back giggles.

"You'd best be the one making them, as though I am talented in many things, I fear crepes and pancakes both turn into manta rays if I'm cooking!" Hermione giggled.

"Will you share them with me?" Harry asked at last, as if they weren't both waiting for Ron to - as usual- break in and ask what a manta ray was. What was the point of talking about such things if Hermione didn't get to explain them to someone?

*Yes. such a nerd. I know. (Yes, Writer is also a nerd. guilty as charged).

[a/n: Anyone know the question? Leave a review, folks.]


	48. Pancakes!

Hermione Granger had determined long ago that Harry Potter was surprisingly good at cooking. He had made it well known how much he hated to work at the Dursleys, so Hermione had always thought it a little strange exactly how much effort he put into cooking. Today, she smiled as he added just a dash more vanilla to the pancakes. Years ago, when she had asked him, he'd simply smiled and said, "It's different when it's you, or Ron, or anyone else, really." He had paused a moment, looking down. "You care. Really care. With them, it didn't matter how right it was." Hermione had taken the comment to heart, and made special point to give decent criticism, as if she was grading his homework. Harry never took it poorly, although he would occasionally get exasperated when Hermione couldn't be more specific. With a trace of a grin on her face, she'd stand beside him while he made three or four different versions of a sauce, and get her to try them all. Hermione knew Harry could be persistent, and concentrate, and do very well at things... when he cared about them. Hermione thought that was the issue with his schoolwork. People cared about Quiddich - the twins, Ron, even Neville. Nobody seemed to take class seriously.

Maybe now that... Hermione broke off, seriously wanting to slap herself. Was she even thinking of Harry profiting off the loss of his Dogfather? Gulty, she looked up at Harry and Ron sharing a few quiet words. From the looks of them - Ron relaxed and Harry yet more so, they weren't talking about her. Unfortunately, Hermione had never been capable of actually believing things like that. She lowered her head and got to eating with a will, wishing that the wizarding world had real Maple Syrup.

"Let's go, Hermione!" Harry said excitedly, and Hermione Granger looked up, momentarily confused, before she realized he had wanted to ask her something.

Moving quickly up the stairs (Snape would say that they moved like a herd of elephants, but obviously he'd never met Crabbe or Goyle), Hermione found herself happy to have Harry as a friend. Harry got to the top of the stairs first, holding the door for you, "Thank you Harry, that's very kind."

Harry, blushing slightly, said, "Just practicing for Ginny." Hermione sent him a knowing grin.

""When are you going to ask her out?" Hermione said bluntly.

"Someday. But enough about me, you're killing me here!" Harry said, his eyes gleaming green in the dimly lit recesses of Hermione's room.

"What?" Hermione said teasingly.

"What Was He Like?" Harry said, and Hermione took a moment to study her best friend, enjoying the curiosity and desire playing over his face.

"Not a word of this to Ron." Hermione said, crossing her arms.

"Obviously." Harry said, mimicking her.

Hermione let out a long sigh, as she gathered her thoughts.

"Lovelorn and lost already?" Harry asked, his eyes bright.

"Oh, you!" Hermione said, picking up an errant pillow and bopping him on the head.

"Well, to start, he was absolutely nothing like Ron." Hermione said firmly.

"Yes, but what was he like?" Harry said inquisitively, his eyeglasses glinting in the low light.

"Lost. Confused. When I first saw him, he had seven shot glasses in front of him, all empty."

Harry said, "wow, he must have been throughly sodden."

No, really, he wasn't, Hermoe said, unsure why she suddenly felt such an urge to defend him. "I think that was part of the reason I wanted to talk with him..."

"Because he wasn't drunk?" Harry said, laughing lightly.

"Seven Hours, harry, that's how long he'd need to be there drinking, to not be drunk." Hermione said, "He wasn't with anyone. It wasn't the type of bar for that sort of thing, either."

"Why was he there for so long?" Harry asked.

"I think he was having second thoughts. Or maybe seventh thoughts, considering how much he had been drinking." Hermione paused, looking suddenly bashful, "He had the bluest, saddest eyes - shadowed with fear, haunted with a sort of grim resolution..."

Harry looked at her, sharply, "He - he was okay to you, wasn't he? I... I didn't think - god, I'm such a bad friend!" Harry buried his head in his hands, looking about as remorseful as a dog who's been caught gnawing on the wrong bone.

"Harry." Hermione said sharply. "Harry!" she said louder, and finally yelled right in his ear. He finally pulled his face out from behind his hands.

"I'm not you, Harry! I'm not!" Hermione paused, taking a deep breath, "You're the one that hides things, when you're hurt especially." She firmly shook her head, sending curls spilling willy nilly. "I'm not like that. I may not need you to solve everything for me, but you can blasted trust me to tell you when something's wrong." Hermione paused, "It kind of hurts, you know - when you won't even talk to us about something being wrong."

"I know... but... I just don't want to burden you." Harry said haltingly.

"Is being your friend a burden?" Hermione asked sharply.

"I... you did almost get killed..." Harry said, flushing.

"No, Harry, it's not. I hope you wouldn't say that being my friend is a burden."

"Only when the owls are coming." Harry said.

"You better not say it then, or you won't get a scrap of homework help!" Hermione said, giggling.

Pulling herself back to the original topic, Harry watched the merriment fade out of Hermione's face.

"He's not from around here, you know - someplace far off, I think somewhere in the Caucasus Mountains."

"Wow, that is..." Harry started.

"I don't believe I didn't even get his name..."

Harry looked at Hermione, strongly suppressed his desire to go into a laughing fit (it wasn't that funny, but it was Hermione sleeping with a bloke who's name she didn't know), and gave her a very firm hug.

[a/n: you know you love me, write me a review! Or I'll go work on my other stories, and you'll just have to waaaaait!]


	49. He must have been something

Harry Potter couldn't help but smile merrily at the confused, abashed look in Hermione's eyes. "Hermione Granger, not thoroughly investigating something?! Say it ain't so!"

Hermione's laughter floated down the halls, Ron Weasley scowling in anger at his treacherous best friend. "I know, I know!" Hermione said with a halting laugh.

Harry's green eyes glittered with mischief, "You know," he pretended to scheme... "I do have an invisibility cloak."

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, "Oh, I just couldn't!"

"But you wa-ant to..." Harry said in that sing-song voice.

Hermione looked down, her eyes flicking upwards to Harry's (her face still downcast), "well, yes..."

"Stop thinking so hard, trying to find a reason not to." Harry said, Hermione frantically shaking her head, "Just go." In a much softer voice (softer than a whisper, a trick he'd learned well before Hogwarts), he said, "I'll cover for you."

Hermione leaped into Harry with a hug, that Harry was surprised to see was quickly followed by sobs. "Hermione?" He asked, his tone conveying both his confusion, and bafflement at the sorrow writ in her tight grip on his chest.

"He won't be there. He's not from here, you know? He sounds like he's from Wales... Didn't say a word about being there, not even an extra night..." Harry heard all of this, between sobs, quietly muttered into his ear. And it was all that he could do to simply hold her tight, his restless body wanting to move, to take action, to fix his friend's immutable sadness.

[a/n: Harry's a good friend. He's still a boy, though, and boys like to fix problems.

Leave me a review, you goofs!]


	50. Suffer another day kindly

Draco Malfoy woke early, staring out on the sun's cruel, bright beams. He frowned at it, thinking ungrateful thoughts about the malevolence of something that would wake him at 7 in the morning. What a mean and spiteful thing, that sun.

Stretching, he walked into the bathroom, turning to look at the mirror. He reached his hand out, hesitantly, touching his own reflection in the mirror. He didn't _feel_ different, he thought slowly. He didn't _look_ different, he thought with an edge of bafflement. Draco Malfoy, in love with a _Muggle_. Draco Malfoy, the same person as he'd been just the day before. It felt like nothing had changed, and yet, Draco Malfoy was perfectly sure that _everything_ had changed.

He couldn't get her face out of his mind, the curve of her lips, the twist of her black hair as she twirled it out of her water-blue eyes... He wanted to see her. He paused, a thought coming to him. "Gammy!" he hollered, and the house elf appeared.

"Yes, Young Master Draco sir?" Gammy said.

"I want you to - is it possible? Tell me, don't hurt yourself if you can't." Draco Malfoy said, absentmindedly squatting down to talk with the small creature.

"Yes, sir?" it asked attentively.

"Can you create a window that will show the street below? Can you put that in my bedroom?" Draco Malfoy asked.

"I could, if..." Gammy said, and Draco marked the look of calculation in its eyes.

"You are the smartest house elf I've ever known! How will I thank you?" Draco said grandly, gathering the elf into his arms (which it was plainly uncomfortable with, which was the whole point so far as Draco was concerned.)

"You have thanked me enough already" the house elf said.

Draco grinned, staring out the window for a good half hour, hoping to see her. Not that he had any real reason to think that she'd be by - but she hadn't seemed to be travelling, even if drinking in that bar hadn't seemed exactly like a regular thin for her.

Straightening, he ran a comb through his hair (the rumors that he spent an hour in front of the mirror were Perfectly Pansy, which is to say made up simply so she'd have something to gossip about. Still, she was useful for finding out any number of things - some for ridicule, and some for blackmail. The best could be used for both, of course.), and strode out to sit at the breakfast table. No one else was up so early, so Draco Malfoy cracked a book. He'd be waiting there for everyone, which would prove useful in the end. Despite the cursed sun's notable stubbornness in waking him, Draco wryly thought that he might owe the puissant thing a debt.

[a/n: Okay, yes, Draco Malfoy's being a bit overdramatic. He's a teenager, they do that sort of thing.

Leave me a review, if you please.]


	51. All Alone

Draco looked up briefly as everyone gathered around the breakfast table. Goyle and Crabbe were first, hungry as they were. The girls followed afterward, and everyone wound up looking at Draco (who was still reading.) After nearly a minute of expectant waiting had passed, Daphne marked up the courage to say, "Draco? What happened to breakfast?"

Draco looked up, surveying the room, his grey eyes cold as steel. "Later. We need to talk." Draco said, laying his book down and stretching himself to full extension. He straightened himself in his chair, and said in a soft voice*, "I think we're all alone now."

"What- what do you mean?" Astoria asked, shifting in her chair to sway closer to Draco Malfoy. Draco caught himself, as he nearly frowned. She was trying to get in his pants, while he was trying to talk about something _important_. Talk about inconsiderate.

"Things aren't going as planned. If they were - well, we'd be eating canapes at the Dark Lord's feet." Draco Malfoy said. His eyes flicked quickly to Greg, who was shaking all over, just like a leaf about to drop from a tree. "Why do you think we're here?"

"To keep us safe?" Vince said slowly, his methodical brain coming up with the easy answer.

Daphne straightened, looking every inch the pureblood princess, "Because they don't trust the Dark Lord to keep us safe. Because we'd be in danger there."

"None of that," Draco Malfoy said with a sigh, "We're here because if we were there - we'd be bait. He'd blackmail them with our continued survival."

Pansy's lips had formed a thin, tight line as she pursed them. She put an arm on Draco's shoulder, and she asked, "What do we do then? What can we do?"

"I'm not sure, quite yet." Draco Malfoy said shortly. "But whatever we do, we'd better do it quickly. We need to have it done before Hogwarts lets out for the next summer."

Vince said shortly, "You think they managed to sneak us out." He paused, and said, "Well, except for Greg."

"What do you know?" Draco Malfoy demanded in a curt voice.

"He was there - at his house - before Snape came." Vince said in his gravelly voice, "Hasn't said a word since." Vince shook his head slowly, "What the Malfoys feared would happen to their son - I think..." Vince trailed off.

"...has happened to Greg." Draco said softly, feeling remorseful for his earlier pranks on his friend.

"We, we can't count on our parents anymore?" Astoria said in a trembling voice.

"Could be worse." Vince said, "We could be where they are now."

Draco said, "They risked a lot to get us here, no doubt."

Pansy said quietly, "Professor Snape risked more, I think."

"We can't count on _any_ of them." Draco said firmly. "We need a plan."

Daphne said gamely, "Why not just take Potter's side then? If the Dark Lord's ... evil?"

"Fine for you to say," Draco Malfoy spat, "Do it if you like. I don't think I could manage," Draco said, shaking his head. "Too much bad blood. It'd take more than my word for Potter to trust me at his back."

"What can we do, then?" Pansy said, sounding smaller and quieter than Draco had ever heard her.

"We plan, we prepare - and if at all possible, we find a way out. I won't be the wand pointed at my father's head. I will leave his hands free, if I may." Draco said firmly.

"With you, Draco." Vince said shortly, putting his hand into the middle of the table. Goyle covered it with his own.

"You're better at this than me." Astoria said prettily, putting her own hand in.

"Hopefully this won't be as stupid as the last adventure you sent me on." Pansy said, her curls waving around her tossed head as she slumped her pretty hand into the pile.

"Oh, alright. I suppose after what Weasel's been feeding him, Potter would look at any Slytherin just the same as he'd look at you, Draco." Daphne said, putting her hand in the middle.

"Together." Draco said solemnly, his hand topping the pile.

[a/n: Well, at least now it's in the open. Wonder what happened to Greg? Leave a review!]

*shamelessly copied from Sev. Snape


	52. Late in the night, to the crack of dawn

Draco Malfoy spent the night looking out the window. Oh, he didn't delude himself - the odds of seeing her were infintessimal. Him being able to do anything about it? even less. Yet he found himself looking down, watching these people - these Muggles. They didn't look so different, not really. Not from two stories up. Still the same daddy pulling his daughter down the street. Still the same two lovers smiling as they meet. Draco felt old, looking down - sort of distant, and cold at the same time.

Locking his door, he lay down and began to think about her, his mouth smiling as his hands tended to his interest. He rmemebered her shy smile, as she came up to his table... the way she tossed her hair... the way her breasts moved as they fitted together.

* * *

Ron and Harry were trying to get some sleep. Honest they were. Instead, they were listening to a bed very determinedly creaking. "Harry..." Ron pleaded, "Can't you-"

None too pleased to be awake himself, Harry glared at Ron, "No. Just. no. if she even had a thought that you had asked me that, it'd get worse."

Ron groaned in sympathetic understanding. He rolled onto his belly, looking over at Harry and asked, "Do you think she even knows we can hear?"

Harry responded, "If she doesn't, I'm not going to be the one to tell her." He could just picture her turning red, completely horrified at what she'd been subjecting them (well, him) to.

* * *

In Hermione's bed, she felt the electric tingle of a full body release, turning onto her belly and falling fast back to sleep.

"Finally," Harry said in a whisper.

"Tell me about it," Ron said, hoping that he didn't have to listen to this all summer. Bad enough, when she... But... this? Slow torture, man.

[a/n: If you don't at least have some sympathy for Ron, I'm doing this wrong. Leave a review!]


	53. What dreams may come

"Time for Cleaning up!" Oh, how Hermione hated that phrase. And Grimmauld Place made the whole job worse. Not only was it dusty, full of traps and poisons, but there was the risk of dark magic around every ottoman. And, this being an 19th century place, there were a lot of ottomans. Harry was with Ron today, so Hermione tried not to think. Tried not to feel isolated. She had taken the attic, because it was less convenient, and thus meant less chance of running into Ron. Ginny was downstairs, but that hardly mattered. She'd stick with Harry no matter what, which was fine for Harry, but Hermione - didn't miss Ron, no, not in particular. But she did miss having someone. Anyone, sort of. That lad in the tavern's face swam before her eyes. Alright, him. Why hadn't she asked him his name? Or Address? Hermione didn't believe in love at first sight - and a good thing too, or she might be wondering if she'd lost her chance at love before it even had a chance. Hermione sat in her skirt on the floor, glad there were no boys to watch her splaylegged and ungainly form. A huge puff of dust came up from behind her, and as she turned about, she saw photo albums. She couldn't help but look through them, mildly shocked to see that even Sirius' mother had once smiled. Oh, Hermione knew that it was a statistical probability, but it was still different seeing it.

Hermione was well aware of the Black Reputation... Sirius had almost seemed proud of it - and, from her readings, most of it was truthful. But it was another thing to look through these books, finding quiet poignant moments at Hogwarts. Reminscing about things that she'd never seen. Hermione frowned, briefly, not wanting to believe that the hopeful boy in these pictures had gone on to become a Death Eater. Or that the lad there - wait, was that Snape? He seemed - rather quiet, peaceful. Words that Hermione would never have associated with him.

War makes fools of us all, Hermione thought, reminded, suddenly of the American Civil War - brother against brother. For how many of these inbred boys were closely related?

Sirius' pictures were wild, and Hermione thought briefly that Harry would like to see - before shuttering her face against a rising tide of tears. No, maybe he wouldn't. He's been so quiet...

Hermione found herself looking at that picture of Snape and Regulus, in the Library at Hogwarts. They seemed intent and content at the same time. Not a trace of ... evil, malice, anything of that sort.

A phrase rose in Hermione's mind: "The banality of evil."

Tears geysered out of Hermione's eyes, thinking of these shades of people she'd never know, the red strings that would pull them towards being Death Eaters and Azkaban. She pictured Draco Malfoy drawling at her, "Someone needs to turn the gas on." And, for a wonder, there wasn't a smirk on his face - perfectly expressionless, as if every bit of meaning could be drawn straight from the words.

And perhaps it could.

Hermione was pathetically grateful that Harry hadn't been around to see her crying fit - and especially Ronald! Why, they wouldn't trust her to do anything ever again! And Harry would walk away thinking she was devastated by being dumped by Ronald Weasley, or something completely offbase like that. And then she'd have to set him straight for anything to be right ever again.

[a/n: We, the audience, know that Snape was an arrogant bloke with a wicked sense of humor. Hermione's just got a few photos.

Write me a review, please!

I hereby promise that I won't do a chapter a day for the rest of the summer.]


	54. The Dawn Breaks Crisp

It was muggy in the flat, Draco thought as he woke up, standing up and stretching, sparing a brief glance out the window he had come to rely on for a sense of time, and place - and yes, a dash of forlorn hope, left erect when everything had been shattered and washed away.

Draco slid into his clothing, fastening the clasps with a practiced grace. "Edie!" He called, as the house elf appeared. "Time to wake the others!"

Draco set the breakfast table, laying out the bread and cheese in structured portions for each person. Before anyone else appeared, he slid into parade rest behind the table, his hands resting at the small of his back. Goyle and Crabbe showed up in galumphing time - their feet swaying the entire floor, as they skidded to a halt. Daphne and her sister showed up elegantly, their graceful stride unhurried even as they swept up with a speed that would put Snape to shame. Pureblooded elegance, Draco Malfoy termed it, not born but bred, permanently stamped into their flesh. Pansy came at more of a trot, her morning ablutions having taken longer.

As was custom, everyone stood at the table, as Draco had not yet sat. Well and good, he didn't intend to sit at all.

"Good morning, all." Draco said, pirouetting in place, before coming back to stare at them. "Today, we will begin work on the deceptive arts."

"The deceptive arts?" Astoria said, and Draco fought the urge to smile. "What have you possibly to teach us about deception, Draco Malfoy?" The voice was challenging, in a quiet, deceptive manner - smooth as glass, and just as clear.

"You haven't learned teamwork, Astoria - and I'll wager Vince and Greg haven't learned anything on the subject." Draco Malfoy said with a crispness to his tone that was rather foreign to his usual drawl.

Daphne and Pansy were giggling with each other (which was depressingly normal), although Draco was gratified to see Vince and Greg looking... alert.

Pretending that he didn't see the two girls blatantly goofing off, Draco continued, "Today, I want you to split into teams. I will give you each an objective, and you will work with your mates to make sure it happens." Draco paused, and said, "If anyone from the other teams guesses what you're on about, you lose."

"Pansy," Draco said, waiting until she was looking up. "Vince."

"Daphne," Draco said, again waiting until she met his eyes. "Greg."

"Astoria, with me." Draco said. Astoria smiled coquettishly, clearly considering that she'd won the game.

And all hell broke loose.

"What do you mean, sticking me with Greg! I want to be with you!" Daphne howled.

"Draaaaco!" Pansy wailed, in what Draco was depressingly starting to understand was her "i don't like you anymore" voice.

Draco Malfoy set his face to stone, and waited. For five minutes. Finally, he broke in with a bellow, "Girls!"

There was blessed silence.

"Your task was not to convince me that you cared about me, and even if it was, you failed utterly at it. You know I have something I want us to do, and you are disrupting that." Pansy's face was now set in a pout. Draco ploughed on before she could interrupt. "I do not care who started it. You will behave, and you will learn. You can start by splitting up and talking about your strengths and weaknesses. I will be around with your assignment."

Before he could start, Tori - the canny girl - raised her hand quietly, saying, "But won't we be at a disadvantage, for you already knowing what their tasks are?" Draco favored her with a quick nod, before his manners taught him to take her by her waist and lead her off to a loveseat. Pansy and Daphne were still in a snit, but Draco was sure that Greg and Vince would make sure they worked - if only because they seemed immune to most blandishments (because it was rather blatantly obvious that they weren't handsome, or silvertongued, or whatever the girls' mothers had forced them to learn).

[a/n: We never seem to get training montages of Slytherins. Never! Well, what happens when you tell Slytherins to train? You're about to find out!

Leave a review to put this story at the top of my "next update" list!]


	55. The end of the day

By the end of the day, a study on deception had mostly devolved into "Who can make Goyle laugh first." - which was quite a trick, as Goyle wasn't speaking, and he seemed to count laughter as part and parcel of his ... whatever he was doing. Draco hoped he hadn't been loon enough to make an actual vow.

Pansy said, "Where's a broomstick that Snape can't break?"

Daphne said, with a slight, steady, sly smile, "Why, the one shoved up his arse."

Goyle just looked bored. Vince was ... wait, what was Vince _doing_? Draco perked up as he saw his tall friend with a bucket of ice water (Merlin knew where he'd found it) lifting it up behind Goyle's head.

All at once there was water everywhere, Goyle sputtering (pointedly not laughing), as the room devolved into great gouts of laughter.

"Where'd you learn that trick?" Astoria asked quietly.

"From those redheads in Gryffindor, of course!" Crabbe said with a toothy grin, "Fools gotta be of _some_ use."

Draco suddenly found himself wishing that it was just a task of convincing the WeaselTwins that he was someone they could trust. Yeah, sure, he'd said some things to them (generally during Quidditch, which oughtn't to count but did.) - but, daft as it might sound, Draco understood their brand of mischief and mayhem. Certainly Slytherins weren't unable to prank people (though they generally needed a little better reason than the Twins, who seemed to see it as their entire reason for existence).

Draco stood up grandly, walking forward as if he was Admiral Perry himself, "I will break this stalemate," he pompously barked. With an expression of utmost dignity, Draco began to dance the polka, all hops and kicks and enough jumping to guarantee the flash of a knee beneath his robes. At this, Goyle's face morphed into mock horror - and then he leaped behind the couch, his eyes the only thing visible as he peered up at Draco.

Draco pretended to twirl the end of his invisible moustache, saying only, "Hmm... it would appear my sense of humor needs work." Draco paused for a moment, "I don't believe I walk on clouds, _unlike Potter and his crew_." _Dammit!_ Draco thought, when Goyle didn't as much as crack a smile at what Draco'd said.

Pansy simpered a snigger, and said, "You know that's not _nearly_ so funny when they aren't right there glaring at you, unable to figure out what you've said, only that it's about them."

Draco released a loud sigh - speaking normally, "I know, I know."

Daphne tried a joke that was entirely too complicated for most of the room - even her sister had a frown on her face, "What needs to be broken before it can be used?"

"An Egg," Draco said with a smile.

Quietly as anything, Goyle had stood without anyone noticing - the japes and jests flying around the room had quite distracted the rest of us. Everyone looked at him, as he quietly held his first finger up. "Number One" Draco thought, and then Goyle's fingers closed into a fist, his thumb protruding out* as he brought his pointed thumb back to his breastbone. I'm number one. Draco thought, and smiled softly - this was the first time _ever_ that Greg had managed to win a game.

*like a hitchhiker

[a/n: I totally didn't plan to come back to trying to make Goyle talk. I do love reviews, and I do write more on the stories that get them frequently]


	56. Hermione's Day

Hermione woke with a start, finding her bed sadly empty. Frowning, she rolled over, arm aimlessly looking for something - someone - who wasn't there. Her face was flushed, and her breathing a bit labored, as she sorted thorough the dream. _Ah! Today is a Hermione Day!_ she thought with rather more joy than she had expected she'd feel. _I don't have to get up, and smell the roses._ She thought with no small satisfaction, her mind beginning to replay the stimulating dream she had just had. Feather kisses, firm hands, and stiff ... other things, making her tingle. Absentmindedly, she touched herself, her mind fully on those long artsy fingers - and longer _other things_.

When she had quite finished, she lay languidly, enjoying the warm satisfaction suffusing her very being. Distantly, she heard Harry and Ron waking up. Not that she _really_ cared, but it helped her know when to stay away from the kitchen.

She sat up, stretched, and then went off to brush her teeth. Today was a day that she could spend testing out different shield spells, perhaps see if she could learn a little bit more about the history of the shield spell - or maybe she'd look at a few jinxes just for a change of pace. There were loads of things to get done, and she'd little enough time that she was starting to enjoy having some time when she could simply practice. No gabbing about with Ron and Harry, just some quiet time to focus and get things accomplished. Getting things accomplished well and thoroughly always gave her such a sense of accomplishment, anyway.

Hermione Granger didn't dare confess to herself that she was so busy working because she wanted a distraction from staring off into space like a lovesick lass.

[a/n: sorry it's short. Didn't feel like boring you with _exactly_ what Hermione was studying.]


	57. The Slytherin Way of Battle

Last week had been fun, Draco Malfoy reflected as he looked at the sorry state of the so-called warriors he had to train. This would not be pleasant. Oh, he didn't want any of them in harm's way of course (he hardly wanted that for Potter, and Potter was the Boy Who Lived To Be Reckless, as Snape was often heard to say - followed often by that spine-chilling dark laugh of his).

Draco Malfoy was confident he was no coward - at least not when it came to spending other people's lives. No, it was a Gryffindor vice to worry about the trees until they lost sight of the forest. As for his own life? Well, that was yet unproven. Draco didn't know which way he'd fall, though he realized that it would be awfully embarrassing to be the only one who ran away. He didn't spend much time thinking about it - there were some bridges that you'd cross when you came to them. And, if necessary, burn them black behind you.

Pansy Parkinson, it turned out, hated taking orders. She was quite qualified as a witch - less so as a warrior, but as a solider? She'd need to be ground and reground and rehoned on top of it all if you wanted her to be that.

So, Draco Malfoy did the sensible thing, and put her in charge.

It was almost worth it to hear her yelling at Vince, when he failed to obey her order precisely when she had given it, and had gotten burnt for her trouble.

Healing, Draco Malfoy thought absently as he dove to the floor to escape a stray hex from Daphne, that's what we need to learn. Even the basics weren't really taught at Hogwarts, well, except for Episkey and the most basic of healing potions. It was one thing to have a shield, but any practical battle training would end in injuries.

Maybe next week, Draco Malfoy thought, submerging himself in his reactions and letting off some steam. Trapped in a small flat with so many Slytherins was hardly conducive to calm tempers.

[a/n: Busy, busy. Granger's less busy, so we're going to check in with her less. Leave a review?]


	58. Not for the Especially Squeamish

Hermione Granger hadn't... mentioned... to Harry some of the particulars of what had happened that night. She was fairly sure (judging by Ronald Weasley's reaction), that Ron, at least, had understood. Still, she had put that aside, for at least a little bit, to immerse herself in homework. Hermione was glad that she was nearly half done (as she had found some things to research and had gotten quite sidetracked a little ways into Potions).

She had spent a bit of time thinking about it at the time, of course, and a few weeks later - trying, and failing, to find a way to get a pregnancy test. She didn't know the spell - and she sure as Shirley wasn't going to look in the Black Family Library - that was more likely to have abortive spells for Muggleborns, anyway. Possibly without actually labeling them. And as Hermione wasn't at all sure what she'd want to do, if, that is, she was pregnant, she wasn't about to go looking under rocks where venomous spiders might dwell.

Three days before her monthly was due to start (though it had always been a bit wayward, just like Crookshanks), there was a package by her door (clearly slid under) in the morning. Hermione Granger opened it, and nearly dropped it in surprise. It was a Muggle Pregnancy Test. (She surely didn't want to ask Molly Weasley about this, and most especially because she really didn't know what she was going to do if she was pregnant. And she didn't want to say, didn't want to even think, that it would matter to her in the slightest that her child was sired by a Muggle - but she knew, deep in her heart where she buried secrets she was deadly ashamed of, that it would matter - if, that is, the child was born without magic. If not, well, then that could just go hang. But, as you needed to wait until the child was magically inclined (generally around two to four), she couldn't exactly make the decision while the child was still in her tummy. And abandoning a baby was not only unsavory, it was also immoral. And Hermione told herself firmly that she hadn't sunk that low, and wasn't going to.)

ANYWAY, she wrenched herself back to the present, opening the box and feeling as if Christmas had come early - or as if the storm outside was about to finally fall, and then she'd at least know that she had a problem. Although, if she decided on it, sneaking out for an abortion was going to be an issue. Possibly less than having a child in the middle of a war, but... Still.

She pulled out the test (wrapped in plastic), and read the instructions. Three times. She only had one of these, and she didn't want to waste it. Yes, the instructions did say that she could test herself now, it had been over a week. Yes, it was only moderately reliable (95%), but the more reliable ones could be used in a month.

Hermione took the pregnancy test and slipped into the bathroom, pulling down her plain cotton panties and sitting on the toilet. She put her hand on her tummy, and started to think. Wondering if there really was a baby growing in her belly. At the point where she was tempted to talk to her own stomach, Hermione grabbed ahold of herself by her metaphorical ear. Get a grip and stop stalling! She told herself, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Snape's.

Closing her eyes, she urinated on the stick - screwing one open just a slit to make sure she wasn't missing, for some reason, and then she closed her eyes, counting to a hundred (and picturing each and every stone as she went from 1 to there, so as to not get caught in more unfounded thinking).

Hermione Granger opened her eyes, looking down at the stick, which very clearly read "Not Pregnant." Hermione's nervous face split into a large grin, and she nearly skipped out of the bathroom on the way down to breakfast. The boys wouldn't be awake for another hour, so the coast was clear.

[a/n: Yes, Hermione's the type to torture herself over this. You know it, and I know it. I saved the "how could I have been so stupid" melodrama. You're welcome. Leave a review!]


	59. Getting Away

It had been only a month, Draco thought, looking over his ... allies. Comrades in arms, perhaps.** They were a team, now, where only a few scant weeks ago, they'd have split at the first sign of trouble. He... wasn't hopeful. No, he really wasn't. But, they had learned something from Goyle - something of persistence, of the quiet confidence that his hulking body seemed to exude. He thought there was a hope in hell that they could survive.

Draco wasn't deluded enough to even contemplate winning.

"Time out." Draco Malfoy said, looking at everyone in sparring clothes (nothing designer about them, as drab as dun). "We're going to hit the books." He said, starting to pace. The reaction from Vince and Greg was just as he expected, deep frowns, the knowledge that they weren't good at this subject. "You two" he said, gesturing at the large boys, "Keep training. Find three new ways to eat them for breakfast." Draco had been exceptionally careful not to talk about who they'd be fighting. It wasn't the time, and everyone knew it. Now was the time to work on capability.

"What are we looking for?" Astoria asked, her light voice filled with a dark vengeance that seemed startlingly incongruous.

"A way out." Draco Malfoy said, as Pansy nodded, dropping herself in his lap as she pushed both of them into the couch. Draco landed with an "oof." He deliberately stopped himself from cursing.

"House Elf!" He called, and said, "Everything you have on magical transportation, disguise, and deception. As far, as safe and as quick as possible."

The house elf bowed, and asked, "Dimensional Gates?" They were well known to be tricksy even on the best of days, but Draco nodded slowly - it was probably their best chance of surviving. And giving their parents a fighting chance to survive as well.

"Especially those." Draco nodded to the Greengrass girls, who arranged themselves in chairs and waited for the books to arrive. Draco Malfoy devoutly hoped this would work. They weren't ready - weren't going to be ready, even if they ditched school completely and just did drills (and O! Snape would have their heads for that... or maybe not. Definitely wasn't worth the risking, Draco thought.).

**I'm very much reminded of Snape's comments in "Nobody ever asked my birthday" about battlefield comrades. The battlefield has no place for friendship.

[a/n: Tumbling through the summer like thistledown! Leave a review, folks!]


	60. Windows without, Windows within

Draco Malfoy looked at the window. Again. He wasn't actually staring out it, yet. Simply looking at the window.

The curse of a wandering mind, Draco thought, cursing to himself. He needed to find the answer, any answer practically speaking. In one of these books, it HAD to be here! Draco wouldn't let it not be here, there were a million ways to do it...

And yet, just outside, like the scent of rain before the first drop falls, tantalizingly close yet so far away, was an infinitely easier solution. A useless, completely ridiculous solution, Draco reminded himself. Greg couldn't manage, Pansy wouldn't manage. It was unacceptable, unthinkable. And yet, here Draco was, thinking about it.

Irritably, Draco Malfoy shook it from his head, like a Shetland shaking water from its coat. He bent to his books, again, his mind still half on that woman's face, her form, her laugh.

No! Draco thought, shouting at himself. He began to read out loud, "Every choice twins the world, breaks it in twain - and from each branch steps a world anew..." His mouth shaping the words kept his mind from wandering... for a little while.

* * *

Where is he now? Hermione Granger thought, her belly flat on the bed, her heels waving above her knees. She had a book open, was paging through it idly (woe be the day when Hermione Granger was too preoccupied to read). It wasn't helping. She wanted to -

In frustration, she cut herself off. Don't dream of the impossible, she said to herself, crossly. There were things that you might do, and things that you could do, and plenty of things that Hermione knew she should do - but one thing that she couldn't do, called to her.

She wanted to see him again, to taste his laughter in her ears. It was illogical, true, but that wasn't hardly the problem. The problem was that it was impossible. He was gone, she thought with a sigh. She wasn't going to see him again, not even if she walked every road in Wales.

[a/n: Draco's up to something. Can you see where his mind is going? Hermione is trying to stave off self-inflicted madness.]


	61. Slice of Life

Finally, finally, Ginny Weasley was here! Hermione thought, as she skampered down the stairs. Ginny wouldn't insist on spending time with her stinky lout of a brother. No, Hermione could spend time with her - a lot of time!

Hermione was generally a bit of an introvert, but having half the summer to herself had been driving her absolutely bonkers. She had never been the type to want to spend every waking minute with her friends, but the stillness of the alternate days was wearing on her.

And Hermione had a funny feeling that Ron and Harry were considering sneaking down to the next Order Meeting... without her. Harry'd denied it, of course, and his cherubic innocence was almost convincing. But there was that almost...

Hermione ran into Ginny's arms with an out of control hug (Harry nearly got his nose clipped off by the speeding bullet that was Miss Hermione Granger - he jumped back with a yelp, running smack dab into Ron, who wasn't nearly as pleased to be seeing his nosy sister.)

"Ginny!" Hermione cried, and Ginny gently patted Hermione on the back.

"Oh, let me have a look at you." Ginny said, pushing Hermione out of hugging distance by steady pressure against her shoulders. "That's just what I thought. You need a makeover session, stat."

"Gin-ny" Hermione whined, her impulsive grin completely wrecking the image. "What can you possibly do with my hair?" Hermione wailed.

Perhaps sensing impending "girl time", Harry gently closed his door - after waving hi to Gin, and receiving a wink in return.

[a/n: Harry likes having friends. He doesn't want to lose one over this, but was perfectly aware that Granger wasn't happy. I wonder if he did something to get Ginny to come visit?]


	62. Left Behind

[a/n: if the title made you think of the video game, shame on you! Also, enjoy the trolling!]

Hermione Granger was, three weeks out from school, completely and utterly finished with her homework. Of course, she'd done so after the first four weeks of summer (having had an unusual amount of free time, trapped in this house and doing menial chores), and reopened them to revise after another month. So she was well and truly done with school, for the moment.

Which was why she was entering the Black library, in search of some new reading material, and some peace and quiet to enjoy. She paused, her hand on the lintel. That was Professor Severus Snape inside. He was... lounging, I suppose you'd call it, his heels crossed on an ottoman, as he stretched out, a book in his lap.

Frowning, she noticed that there was a perfectly good, if obnoxiously yellow couch along the opposite wall. Well, the Professor couldn't possibly be too upset if she came in and was quiet, could she? Quiet as a churchmouse.

So thinking, Hermione came in softly, procuring a book that seemed interesting, and settling on the couch to read.

"Miss Granger, shall I take it that you've completely forgotten your manners over the summer hols?" Professor Snape purred in that icy way of his, his eyes still focused on the book. *

Hermione's mouth opened, and she said, "No, sir, I was only trying not to bother you."

"Pity. I wish you'd been the first Gryffindor to be able to lie, even to only save an old man his delusions." Professor Snape said dryly.

Hermione's mouth opened, and then closed, as inside her mind, cogs began to whirl. "What delusions, sir?"

"Why, the delusion that you, as all good students should, might find me scary enough to avoid angering me unnecessarily."

"Wait, you want us to be afraid of you?" Hermione Granger said, studying the man as if he was a snake (which, of course, he was - if he was being an exceptionally approachable snake, today).

"Naturally," Snape purred, saying, "I sometimes think that fear of Professor Snape is the only thing that renders Potter and the Weasleys capable of following any rules whatsoever." Hermione muffled a giggle, nodding her albeit unwilling assent. "And this is why you mustn't tell them that I'm not nearly the bastard I act."

"I can keep a secret, Professor." Hermione responded.

"You will keep this one, on pain of my most creative punishment." Snape smiled at her, and it was not a pretty smile, "And that's not the Professor talking."

"Indeed, sir." Hermione Granger said, hoping, suddenly, that it wasn't the _Death Eater_ talking.

*they aren't. they totally aren't. but Gryffindor is watching, so you see what she does. The spike of fear she felt was very, very real.

[a/n: Snape decided to wander in, having given both Dumbledore and Lord V the slip. Yes, there's a reason he's not going to see Malfoy. No, if you don't know it, I'm not tellin

Please review!]


	63. Impulsiveness Meets Awkwardness

Hermione and Professor Snape had been reading quietly (the boys busy upstairs cleaning and Molly in the kitchen as usual) for nearly an hour. Hermione Granger came to a particularly vexing question in the Advanced Transfiguration book she had been reading, "Professor Snape, may I ask you a tranfiguration question?"

"Do I particularly look like the Transfiguration Professor?" Snape shot back, his ire markedly out of proportion to her relatively (for a Gryffindor) polite question.

Snape's dark, penetrating eyes demanded a response, and Hermione suddenly responded, "No, in that you are neither female nor particularly feline." Hermione had a split second of _How could I just say that to a Professor?!_

And then, almost simultaneously, they both looked back at their books, continuing to read.

About five minutes later, Professor Snape spoke up, unprovoked, "Transfiguration was always my worst subject in school. Frankly, you're better off with the book." They continued reading as if Snape had said nothing, as Hermione couldn't figure out a way to respond when she hadn't been asked a question.

About an hour later, Weasley and Potter came cluttering down the stairs, in response to Molly's "Lunch time!" Weasley, as usual, hadn't the thought for anything more than "eat now" - so it was Harry Potter who looked in on Hermione -and then jumped at the sight of the professor.

"Professor Snape!?" Harry Potter called, more shocked than upset or scared.

Without looking up, Professor Snape said, "Yes, it is I. If you've missed my company so dearly, you are welcome to join us, so long as you remember to be quiet."

Harry Potter stood there with his mouth hanging open, and Hermione fought a sudden gigglefit.

Continuing, as if there hadn't been a good thirty second pause, "Otherwise, I believe i heard Mrs Weasley laying out lunch in the kitchen."

Harry Potter's stomach growled, as he threw back a "Thank you" over his shoulder.

Professor Snape said dryly, "Never did learn how to say sir, did he?"

Hermione Granger shook her head in amusement.

[a/n: The author invites you to Use Your Creativity in thinking about exactly what Professor Snape was thinking to himself over _five whole minutes_ , before... apologizing.

Well, the author found it hilarious.

Leave a review! Back to Draco nexttime. He's been busyyyy...]


	64. Back to Training

Draco Malfoy gave a long, low sigh. It wasn't going to work, he thought, standing up and walking to the window. Looking down on all the people, cheerfully oblivious to his world falling apart around his ears. Hopefully they'd never know. Maybe they'd catch sight of some stupid cloaked man around Halloween, dead or dying. Draco hoped not - someone deserved to smile, to watch the sunset over the Atlantic. He thought of his yearmates, out there reading and training.

There was a way, but it was incredibly dangerous. Well, two ways were completely impossible, so there was that. No, the dangerous part was that someone had to stay behind.

And, Draco Malfoy knew it couldn't be him. No, not for this to work, to any degree.

Draco didn't know anyone he'd trust with the spell. Well, no one except maybe Severus Snape, or his Father or Mother. They were all accomplished wizards - but asking them to do it would be worse than a death sentence. The Dark Lord did so love his torture, after all.

An anchor was needed, someone to both cast the spell and stay behind.

But... Draco had to go. It wasn't for his yearmates, it was for the rest of them. He couldn't just... let them go like babes into a wilderness. Besides, they'd know something was up if Draco wasn't going - he was their best chance to sway them.

Draco needed someone. Someone he'd trust.

Like that was happening anytime soon, he thought with a sigh, standing up and closing the window, before striding out. Back to training, as it was increasingly looking like that was the only way they had a prayer of surviving. Deep within him, in a place where he didn't listen to often, a part of him wondered if survival was even something to be grasped for. He clung, for a moment, to that day - no, that night - when he had been out the window, and in a place where he might could find peace. He would go on. He had to.

[a/n: somber mood.

So, lovelies, next week will see the Express chuffing towards Hogwarts.

Leave a review, and I am sorry if taking so long with all the summer was boring.]


	65. Might I trouble you for 100 copies?

It was Diagon Alley day at the old Black Residence, and the entire place was a whirl and a bustle getting ready. Well, everyone except for Hermione Granger, who was sitting patiently and reading a book, occasionally jotting down another book that she'd want from the bookshop.

Harry and Ron, as usual, had forgotten stuff. Ginny hadn't precisely forgotten, but she had managed to misplace the shoes she'd want to wear, and was frantically skurrying around getting in everyone's way.

It was half past noon, and they were supposed to have left a good half hour ago, Hermione Granger thought crossly, wanting to get the entire thing out of the way so she wouldn't have to deal with Ronald for longer than she had to. Harry, at least, had finally managed to assemble himself, and was standing there awkwardly reviewing the list.

Out of nowhere, Snape loomed over Harry's shoulder - when Hermione saw him, she couldn't help it, she shrieked. Harry jumped two feet forward and one in the air, spinning around as he landed. Snape said dryly, "You jump like a mangy mog. And look like one too - can't you do _anything_ for that hair?"

Upstairs, Ron muffled a series of giggles at the hubris of Snape criticizing anyone else's hair. "Afraid not, sir, I've tried." Harry Potter said pleasantly, determined not to get into a fight with Snape if he could help it. After all, it was summer. Nice time, not good for fighting. Furthermore, who _knew_ what Snape would have him do, if he felt like Potter needed punishing and Dumbledore wasn't there to stop things from getting out of hand.

Snape nodded quickly, and said in that smooth, silken way of his, "I have a favor to ask of you, Potter."

"Oh?" Harry asked, turning his head slightly to look Snape full on in the face. He was tempted to stand on his tiptoes, but that would have lost Dignity Points.

"I have a list of schoolbooks that need to be bought. It is... rather extensive, though you should be able to afford it. Would you be willing to pick them up for me?" Snape purred.

"Can I see the list?" Harry asked, his caution telling him that he'd better figure out if Snape's request might get him in trouble. Because it really wasn't outside the realm of possibility for Snape to be trying to do that.

Harry's eyes got wide, as he skimmed the list Snape handed over, "This is enough for fifty students, at least!"

"You should consider yourself fortunate that you can go shopping this year. Many cannot." Snape looked at Harry, whose eyes glimmered behind the glare on his glasses, and continued, "You surely wouldn't deprive your fellow students of their ability to study, would you?"

Harry Potter straightened, thinking back to how often he had longed to get away to Hogwarts, how much it often seemed like the only place he could go... Behind those thoughts, other ones echoed, wondering if Snape had ever felt the same way. "Yes, sir." Harry blushed, and then corrected himself, "I mean no sir."

"As you were." Snape said, his lips twisting into what might be a smile at Potter's discomfiture, "And thank you."

[a/n: Snape's Slytherins are NOT going to Diagon Alley. No way, no how.

Leave a review? I'll update quicker if you do.]


	66. Inkspots

Harry had gone to Diagon Alley, but his mind had been back at Grimmauld Place, thinking on Snape's face and weird request. Couldn't Snape go himself? Was that why he'd been asking? Who was he getting them for?

Why, oh why, hadn't Harry asked a Single question?

Luckily, Hermione and Ron were too busy glaring at each other, or huffily (and Loudly) ignoring each other, or finding ways to subtly hurt each other to care much about a somewhat distant and distracted Harry Potter. Not that Harry would like being ignored all the time, but he'd been spending well over a month with both of them, and too much attention made Harry want some alone time, even if he took it while his friends were right there. Squabbling, true, but right there.

* * *

Harry Potter had made his decision, and he put it into action after he had gotten home. After all, he knew that Snape was as likely as a gorgon to answer his questions (or was that a sphinx?). So, he had made up his mind not to ask at all.

Instead, he was going to find out the old fashioned way.

This was what found Harry Potter in the room with the books, carefully putting three small ink blots in a triangle above a larger ink blot. He blew some sand on the page, and then closed the book.

Only around another 500 to go, Harry thought, his mind grim with determination. He was going to figure out who wasn't allowed, couldn't, shouldn't go to Diagon Alley. And then he was going to figure out _why_.

[a/n: Harry stole the story again! Stop him!

Leave a review? Was this what you expected? He's... learning. Slowly, but he is learning.]


	67. King's Street Station

It was the day of the Hogwarts Express. Draco Malfoy and his coterie had not received a scrap of word on what they were to do.

Nevertheless, Draco had them all packed, clothes pressed, and ready to go.

Which would be _exactly_ why Pansy was currently sitting on his lap, her arms entwined around him, while the Greengrass sisters looked on with sharply jealous eyes. Goyle and Crabbe were effortlessly standing at the corners of the room, trained eyes looking for signs of trouble. Not that the girls (or Draco himself) couldn't have handled that job, just that the girls were a bit better with finely tuned deception. Draco's friends could pull off, with a bit of work, looking dopey enough to be unnoticeable. They couldn't pull off "eyecatching" or half of the other Slytherin tools.

In a flurry of black robes, Snape whirled out of the floo, looking them up and down with a hurried smirk, "Still in one piece, children?" He gave a crisp nod, not waiting for any response whatsoever. "Here, take these. Schoolbooks, since you won't be going to Diagon Alley this year." Snape passed out shrunken copies of everyone's books (Draco was not at all surprised that Snape knew what everyone planned on taking).

"When you leave the floo, I want you to walk forward, exit the door and join the gaggle of hopelessly happy students returning to Hogwarts." Snape's eyes glittered like obsidian, cold and cruel. "Above all else, I want you to not look back. Pretend as if the room where you entered King Street Station does not exist."

Snape looked them up and down, and asked, "Am I understood?" There was a short, crisp chorus of "yes sirs," to which Snape nodded again.

They went into the Floo labeled King's Street Station, as Snape had commanded. Looking neither left nor right (despite his mounting curiosity), Draco led his friends out of the room, wondering what he'd find out on the main platform. Draco somehow doubted it would be as carefree and cheerful as it usually was.

They weren't loading the train yet, so Draco and his friends stood clustered - until Draco belatedly noticed Goyle inspecting the entrance to the room they had just left. Draco gave his friend an elbow, earning a sharp look - before Greg attended the room again. "You're not supposed to look," Draco hissed. Goyle nodded absently, smiled even more distantly. And then, just as Draco was about ready to explode at his friend from pure frustration alone, Goyle shot him a sparkly eyed look. Raising one hand, Goyle mouthed soundless words.

The meaning was clear - _Who would I tell?_

Draco stood there, pretending to be idle, as more people joined the waiting, impatient ranks. There were fewer parents here this year, particularly Slytherin parents. And were those - guards? It looked like there was some sort of rag tag bunch of people inspecting those who came onto the platform. Surely they wouldn't turn people away? Last chance to see iddle Wallace before he's gone for ten months?

From the patterns of people's motion, Draco was partially aware that more people were coming out of that room - the room he'd never seen before, never realized existed.

As was typical, Draco Malfoy noted the arrival of the Gryffindor Bunch - all the Weasleys, plus the Mudblood and Potter. Naturally they didn't have to be searched, to be questioned. And, just as normally, they were laggardly, just barely arriving before it was time to board.*

Only Goyle's trained eyes registered that the Golden Gits were stepping out of the very same room that the Slytherins had been flooing into.

*Author wishes to mention that this is actually good for the Weasleys! Very good!

[a/n: Time they have, not communication with Snape, or really anyone except house elves.

Leave a review?]


	68. Hogwarts Express

Draco extended a hand to Pansy to help her onto the train-side steps, letting her use him for a bit of balance as she stepped aboard. Behind him, Greg and Vince did the same thing for the Greengrass sisters.

All along the train, Wizarding students were doing the same thing, as they always did - boys and men assisting ladies and their trunks into the carriages.

Closer to the front, Draco was vaguely aware of the gauche antics of the Gryffindors, who didn't possess a scrap of class or intellect. Their girls (nearly hooligans all) scampered into the cars, some of them even clad with indecent trousers. Draco Malfoy wouldn't say a word against the muggleborn carrying on so - they hadn't the time to absorb Wizarding ways... But the Weasleys? Oh, ye gods above, the Weasleys! Pathetic is what they were.

No sooner had they all reached their compartment and settled in, than Pansy was tugging Draco Malfoy up, the steely glint in her eye telling him that if he didn't go peacefully, he'd go at the end of a noose (that being his tie), and in ignominious unconsciousness. Draco was two steps behind Pansy before they were past their own carriage, and he hurried to keep up with his fellow prefect. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Pansy wasn't headed towards the prefect cabin.

Too impersonal, too likely for interruptions.

And that meant there was only one place on the train _suitable_.

[a/n: I'm cutting this short to let you speculate. Draco knows what's going on, Pansy knows what's going on, - it's only you lovelies who are in the dark.

So write a review, and amuse me with your ideas.]


	69. To the John

As Pansy headed in the direction of the prefect's cabin, one of the doors slid aside, and Hermione Granger (clad, as expected, in pristine prefect dress, though she had probably just changed - as usual, overeager to exult in her new power and prestige) stepped out just barely in front of Pansy.

Without breaking stride, Pansy grabbed Granger by the waist, and neatly twisted, depositing Granger to Pansy's side (and decently out of the way). Granger, startled, had managed an awkward sound that reminded Draco of a chicken squawking. He forebore to comment on that, however, as Pansy flung open the door to the restroom.

Draco Malfoy slid to a graceful stop, looking sidealong at Granger, "Cast the strongest silencing spell you can, won't you luv?"

Without waiting for a response, Draco Malfoy strode along towards Pansy, deftly shutting the bathroom door behind them both, although it was undoubtedly crowded in there.

As for Hermione Granger? Well, it was undoubtedly fortunate for him that Malfoy hadn't actually waited to hear Granger's scorching response. Her burning eyes and stiff-stalking gait showed everything about her sudden fury, as she strode over to the lav.

As if it was ice crystallizing over water, Hermione's visage turned calm, as she smirked deviously. Her wand instantly in her hand, she started to cast her very strongest silencing spell. Malfoy wouldn't know what hit him.

Still enraged enough to stalk back to her own cabin, Hermione's face had a markedly devious grin on it. "Hey guys, you'll never guess what I just did!"

As she relayed the story, Hermione grinned at her friends, "And the best part is? He _asked_ for it!"

* * *

Pansy impatiently looked Draco Malfoy up and down, drawling in that obnoxious tone she favored, "If you're done thoroughly convincing the mudblood that we're going to have intercourse in the public restroom, on the Hogwarts Express..."

Draco Malfoy turned big innocent eyes towards Pansy (though truth be told, they hadn't worked in years.), "Yes?"

Pansy Parkinson shrieked, and the lav reverberated with it, as Hermione's silencing spell did its business. Deafened, Pansy continued even louder, "You can tell me _exactly_ what happened. I want _all_ the details!"

Draco Malfoy couldn't hear a word, of course, and he had his wand in his hand, running quick diagnostics, and trying to heal the split eardrums. Pansy, meanwhile, was earnestly trying to erase the blood from their garments. Draco didn't mind, she was always the expert when it came to fabrics.

[a/n: Show of hands: Who was expecting _that_? Seriously, leave a review, and I'll get into what Draco tells Pansy.]


	70. What Happened, Part One

Draco cast a better privacy spell than the one Granger had used, muttering to himself as he did.

Draco took a deep breath, and started to fidget. He really only fidgeted around Pansy and his mum. He supposed they were the only people he felt safe enough around, to actually show himself vulnerable, even nervous.

"I just needed some space. Some time to think. You girls were arguing, and I knew if I was still there you'd never figure it out..." Draco started, staring at the floor.

"You always did, away from everyone else." Pansy said smoothly, her bad mood draining away completely now that Draco had finally started to tell her what he'd ought to have told her months ago!

"So, I went out -" Draco said, haltingly.

"To - with Muggles?" Pansy said, her eyes wide as saucers.

Draco shrugged, "Wasn't difficult. Smooth as silk, just watch what everyone else does, and you won't get squelched."

"You can get squelched?" Pansy asked, leaning forward in interest.

"Yeah, they have these great big metal beasts that zoom around on wheels belching dark fumes out the back." Draco said, "Like our train, but smaller and they aren't tied to tracks."

Pansy simply looked at him, waiting for him to go on.

"Anyhow, I managed to wind my way over to a pub, a quiet one like the Hog's head, not something where everyone's making merry." Draco said in his smooth drawl.

Pansy gave a quick bob of her head, her impatience pricking at Draco's reticence.

He quickly gave in, saying, "It was the perfect place to think. And drink. Who'd have thought that Muggles have passable drink?"

"What's that like?" Pansy said, "Does water drip out of your ears?"

"No, it's ... well, just smooth, and with a bit of a burn. Kinda floral too, as if you were drinking juniper and stuff." Draco said easily, his eyes closing as he pictured the gin he'd been drinking.

"I... got a chance to get a bit of perspective." Draco continued. "I mean, have you asked yourself, if the Dark Lord's all we've been taught he was - why our parents would send us away?"

Pansy broke in, "And, if he was, well, you know, why Goyle won't talk about anything, anymore?"

Draco got briefly morose, just thinking about it, and Pansy regretted bringing it up at all. "Yeah, that too."

Draco got even quieter, and said softly, "You can't tell anyone this next part, Pansy, you just can't."

"You know I won't, Draco Malfoy, you know me." Pansy said softly, her voice radiating sincerity in a way that Draco knew she couldn't fake.

"Yeah, I do." Draco said softly, "While I was there, there was someone else drinking - someone close to our age." Pansy nodded for him to continue, and he did. "I think she had something that bothered her too - she was sitting there and drinking water as if it was wine."

[a/n: Leave a review! I'm trying to summarize without making it boring, but Pansy wants the details! all of them!]


	71. You know me Pans

[a/n: you are getting this as from the conversational participants perspective. In reality, after that hearing damage from Granger, they're speaking a lot louder than they think. Being only amongst themselves, they haven't realized this as of yet.]

"You know me, Pans, when I'm feelin' like thinkin'" Draco Malfoy said smoothly, "Every sign says Back Off, and they're all black and florescent orange."

Pans smirked, giggling softly at Draco's 'way with words' - it was always colorful, and often unexpected.

"Well, this long-legged... vixen? I suppose you'd call her," Draco drawled, "Walked up to me bold as brass tacks, and asked what was on my mind."

"I bet you gave her a piece of it!" Pansy snickered. Draco Malfoy's temper was legendary, and he wasn't one to take being bothered lightly.

"In a Muggle bar? Without my wand?" Draco Malfoy said, raising an eyebrow, and then grinned. "I just gave her the old brush-off, saying I was bored."

"And that wasn't the last of it?" Pansy asked dubiously. Most people, in her experience, could take a hint.

"Well, she called me a liar, straight out." Draco Malfoy said.

"Well, _that_ must have been a new experience for you!" Pansy giggled. She was well aware of just how much lying Draco did, and just how many people eventually caught on and said something about it.

"From someone I'd never met? I'll say so." Draco Malfoy said, "I didn't tell her, if you know what I mean, but I started talking..."

Pansy was somber again, as she nearly whispered, "What about?"

"Choices," Draco Malfoy said, shoving his hands into pockets. "We do, you know, have to make some - and soon."

"I can never guess what you're thinking, Draco, you know that." Pansy snapped back crabbily.

"I... I won't let _him_ use me to blackmail my parents." Draco said softly, almost stammering, his voice somehow firm and shaking at once.

Pansy could do nothing else other than pull Draco into her arms, and, for a moment, they were just as close as when they were six, and Draco had skinned his knee while falling from his broom. For a moment, at least, Pansy was the brave, strong one. The one to lean on. She knew it wouldn't last, it never did.

"She told me that I should trust in my doubt, and that so long as I was asking, I was thinking..." Draco Malfoy said, looking up at Pansy from within her embrace. "Would you believe I told her that I was supposed to want to kill her?"

Pansy blinked, temporarily nonplussed. "How much did you have to drink?" she hissed.

"All told? I think about twenty glasses. And they were strong." Draco Malfoy said.

"How is it that you were still able to talk?" Pansy demanded, concern ringing in her voice.

"Did I mention that I started before noon? She was talking with me after dark." Draco Malfoy said, as Pansy's eyes bulged.

"Draco Malfoy!" she said, hitting him over the head. "You scared me half to death!"


	72. Being Me

"Sorry, Pans." Draco said, continuing, "I don't think I've ever, _ever_ had someone not recognize me."

"Well, of course she wouldn't recognize you, she's a muggle!" Pansy laughed.

"You have no idea, Pans." Draco Malfoy said bleakly. "Everyone knows me as the Malfoy brat. Like it or not, that's who I am. I can't - don't - know anyone who'll let that drop."

"Draco Malfoy!" Pansy Parkinson said, with hands on her hips, "You are an offensive twit."

Draco looked up into Pansy's eyes, and she froze, her ire draining out of her feet. "I know," he said, running his hands over his hair, a compulsive habit he'd licked when he was _seven_. "But... it was nice to have someone who didn't know that - not at first glance, at any rate." Draco's subsequent thinlipped smile looked threadbare and raw. Pansy just stared at him, looking slightly baffled, and more hesitant than he was used to.

"We just kept talking, about big things and little ones, judgements and decisions and ideas that I've never told a living - " Draco Malfoy shook his head, saying quietly, "I didn't want her to go, Pans..."

"Oh, Draco..." Pansy said, her heart in her eyes, if not her low voice.

Draco turned away from her, in the small lav that didn't really admit such things without them brushing tight against each other, "You'll laugh."

"Draco!" Pansy said sternly.

Draco turned his head back towards her, "No, you _will_. Try not to do it too cruelly."

Pansy was still at that, listening with all the curiosity Slytherins ever own.

"I told her... tried to play it off like a joke... that I was afraid."

Pansy snorted at this.

"Afraid of werewolves." Draco Malfoy said haltingly, each syllable emerging like a bubble bursting.

"She came up to ... sit with me." He said, and his smile was sad. "Said it might help me sleep."

"Only..." Draco Malfoy said, his voice wistful and rueful at once, "We did a bit more than talking..."

"Draco..." Pansy said, letting each syllable of his name fall like clinking galleons from her tongue. "What did you do?" Her voice was flat, and in this Draco knew that he had stepped into danger.

"All the way," Draco Malfoy looked into Pansy's eyes, his dark and dilated as he thought back to it, "and I liked it."

Pansy's hands turned into fists, and she wanted to pummel Draco's pointy face in, but - needing confirmation - growled, "Did you use protection?"

Draco's face paled to the point of turning blue as ice. "Shite, I hadn't even - Iii- no wand, Pansy!" The last three words were shouted at Pansy, whose fists were raining a hailstorm down on Draco's back.

"Bastard! Enemy of all Women!" Pansy shouted, continuing to hit him as her insults took a more scatalogical turn, befitting Draco's heritage, he supposed. Feeling guilt rest its heavy weight on his shoulders, he let her continue to punch him.

As Pansy's rage ran out, she hugged him, saying into his shoulder, "Thank you for telling me. I'm sorry I've been so upset recently, I just miss talking to you."

"Me too, Pans, me too." Draco Malfoy said, as they both took a few minutes to straighten each other out, so that they wouldn't look utterly disheveled leaving a lav.

[a/n: Well, how'd you like it? I'm trying to get a decent read on the relationship between Pansy and Draco. I hope it works. Leave a review!

Pansy works well as a sounding board, but... Draco took to having someone who _didn't know him_ like a duck takes to water.]


	73. Meetings

Draco and Pansy left the lav, trying to do so with aplomb, although it's really rather difficult, even looking as prim and proper as Slytherins should, to not look like you've been doing something... naughty, when coming out of the lav. At least no one but Longbottom was there to watch, and Draco's glare put the boy in his place, sending him scurrying - actually, right past them. Wait, was he going to be Prefect this year? Of all the lousy pushovers McGonagall could have picked... Oh, and the Mudblood too. Miss "I'm too Perfect" - general all round goodytwoshoes and teacher's pet (well, except for Snape, of course, but nobody expected Snape to like _anyone_ ).*

They quickly floated into the frontmost car in the train, and grabbed the last two seats. Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy thought, that meant he was forced to be sitting by Granger. Of all the rotten luck...

Professor McGonagall started to talk... and then Draco stared - not at Granger, who he wanted to pierce with a death glare, but at McGonagall. He could hardly hear what she was saying! Of all the rotten tricks that Granger could have pulled - he didn't _want_ to get in trouble before even getting to Hogwarts!

Calm. Think. Draco's mind was in the air, suddenly seeing the Snitch - free and agile and enjoying the wind. And, as quick as that, he had the spell he needed. Palming his wand, he waved it across his notebook, and then he scribbled a hasty note on a fresh piece of paper, _You're going to give me the notes you take on this meeting_ , before ripping it off and handing it over to Granger, saying in a low voice, "Fine, you can have a piece of paper for notes."

Hermione scanned the paper, her mouth thinning to a straight line, as she wrote back vehemently, and with no care to how large her writing was, _And why should I?_

 _Because you're the reason I can't hear in the first place._

 _That's hardly my fault. You asked for my best silencing spell._

 _I didn't ask for you to make me DEAF! Take some responsibility and make this right, O Breaker of Eardrums._

 _You're a right manipulative git, you know that?_ Granger said, her fingers white around her quill. _Good I'm getting to her..._ Draco thought with some satisfaction.

 _Well, yes, I thought that was rather obvious. I am in Slytherin, after all._

 _Harry was almost in Slytherin, and there's not a shred of manipulative cunning in him!_

 _... you probably shouldn't have told me that, you realize?_ Draco Malfoy wrote back, his face turning towards her in some warped semblance of a sneer. Inside, he felt like grinning. Potter, nearly a Slytherin? It was the sort of juicy gossip that he'd have passed around the common room for a laugh just two years ago. Now, now it looked like he finally, maybe, might just have a chance. After walling away every possible avenue, to see even a dirt road leading away from Voldemort? It was like seeing Elysium itself.

Now Draco just needed to figure out how to take merciless advantage of this one little fact.

 _Okay, I'll give you the blasted notes! Now shut up and let me pay attention!_

*Yes, I'm aware the Gryffindors think of Draco as Snape's pet project. He doesn't think that about his head of house.

[a/n: What? You expected a different reunion?

Leave a review!]


	74. I should be plotting

The feast was beastly awful, Malfoy thought, sitting on the railing on the edge of the Astronomy Tower, his legs dangling as if he was five again. The other houses glared at the Slytherins (nothing new there, they'd been convinced that every single Slytherin was darkest evil, and nevermind that Crabbe couldn't spell evil, anyhow).

No, the difference was in the Slytherins themselves. They were quiet, indecisive, undecided. Well, except for Theo Nott, and a few of the seventh years. And Lupercalla, her vulpine face smirking from a crowd of fawning fifth-years. Draco Malfoy found it more disturbing that the fifth years didn't see her for what she was - a bitter bitch with a venomous bite. Had he _ever_ been that stupid?*

It felt good to feel the wind on his face again, to think of flying - had it really been nearly a full three months since he'd been outside a cramped apartment in Londontown? Yes, it really had. And yet, it wasn't flying that was capturing his attention - when he really ought to be thinking about damned near anything else - even classes.

No, it was that Muggle, with those bright blue eyes and long, silky black hair. Not her figure, per se, but that genuine, unguarded look in her eyes. That was one thing that he hadn't been able to express to Pansy - the sheer thrill of someone Not Trying To Feign _anything_ at all.

* * *

It was dark out, and Hermione walked the circumference of Hogwarts aimlessly, the grass beneath her feet gently crunching as she strode over it. She knew she ought to be getting a timetable together, pulling Ron and Harry into some last minute homework assignments, doing something - anything - to prepare. Even, perish the thought, spending a second or two thinking about boogering Malfoy and when and what he was going to say to Harry. He had been right, of course, she really had better not have told him that.

Argh! Hermione thought, grinding her teeth together. Not a single more thought about that wretch!

As she turned the corner of the castle, looking down on the black lake, mirrordark and glinting with untold depths and desires, she couldn't help but remember that young man's eyes - lost, forgotten, and hesitant. The look of a confusion so utterly captivating that a young man couldn't find his own way out. She fervently hoped that he'd managed to find some Northern Star to guide him by. There are many ways to lose oneself, after all, but among the worst is to lose oneself to an indecision.

*Yes.

[a/n: Leave a review! They're finally at Hogwarts! ... Up Next: Malfoy and Potter, like flint and steel.]


	75. A touch of nerves

Draco Malfoy was ready the next day. Or at least he thought he was. There were a thousand students at Hogwarts, and they generally believed that Draco Malfoy was the IceMan, completely heartless, and all that rubbish. Even most of the Slytherins had believed that, at some point or another. Often while dangling by their ankles, as Draco Malfoy gave them a "shakedown cruise."

It was complete nonsense, of course. Draco Malfoy got nerves like anyone else, and right now they were twisting in his gut, trying to get him to sod off to the bathroom and not do what he was planning.

Draco Malfoy had many years of training, however - one didn't grow up around former Death Eaters and not learn how to deal with wanting to wet one's pants at the age of seven. So, all the nerves were carefully concealed beneath Draco Malfoy's impassive mask.

Care of Magical Creatures, of all things, Draco thought, as Harry Potter strolled with his lousy friend Ron (no insult that, just fact). Bastards were lucky they weren't missing limbs like the last Teacher had.

Draco was leaning against a tree, his one foot braced on it, ready to push himself off, "Going somewhere, Potter?" Draco drawled, as the two came close, his foot pushing him off and allowing him to step in front of them gracefully (a move he'd practiced for a full month before he could do it with style).

"Yeah, I've got Charms." Potter said, and Draco simply smirked.

"Coulda fooled me." Draco Malfoy said, turning a nasty smile on the pair, who looked like they were about to draw wands, or something.

Draco assumed an air of nonchalance, and said snottily, "You won't _guess_ what secret Granger spilled on the Express..."

Harry Potter's bright green eyes found Draco's, staring intently - plainly, _what the hell is your angle?_ "No, I probably won't."

Draco smirked, "It was _your_ secret, you know."

Harry Potter looked back at Draco Malfoy, and tried - futilely- to gather an air of nonchalance around himself, "You mean that I was actually looking forward to Potions?" Draco blinked, and in blinking, lost the chance to respond. "Yeah, that was before I met Snape." Harry and Ron kept walking, leaving Draco Malfoy looking after them.

Hm, Draco thought, _that could have gone better._

[a/n: Draco Malfoy, everyone. Git extraordinaire. Leave a review!]


	76. Hoping it would all go away

Harry was waiting for Hermione that night, in the Common Room. She was returning as late as she usually did, and thus the common room was completely empty. Well, thought Harry, we may have helped a little with that, inwardly smirking

"Hermione!" Harry said brightly, "Come sit."

Hermione eyed them both a trifle suspiciously (Ron was fiddling with a rook, which seemed to decide Hermione), before sitting down on the couch with a bounce.

"How was your reading?" Ron asked, looking up.

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to launch into a big discussion, when she noticed Ron's evident lack of interest. "Fascinating. You two really should have been there."

"Right, like we should have been at the prefect meeting?" Harry said, his eyes glittering with a nasty sense of humor.

"Oh. That." Hermione said, deflating a bit.

"When were you going to tell us about running into Malfoy?" Harry said.

"I was..." Hermione fidgeted, "hoping if I forgot about it - well, he would too!" Oh, and wasn't that just typical Hermione - ignoring the unpleasant with a will and a way.

"What exactly did you tell him?" Harry queried, trying to keep his voice gentle.

"That you..." Hermione's voice softened, below the sound of a whisper, "nearly got sorted into Slytherin."

Harry looked up, laughing, "Just that? Fat lot of good that'll do him, right? He can't be making his own house out to be evil, can he?"

Hermione shot Harry a look that said _shut it._

"Of course he can," Hermione sighed, "He just needs to bribe a Ravenclaw to say it."

Hermione looked at Harry and said earnestly, "Of course, You needn't say it's true."

"But I'll _know_ , Hermione," Harry said, "and I'm pants at lying, to boot."

Harry sighed, and said, "I really wish you hadn't told him that."

Hermione sighed herself, and said, "I know, Harry, I know."

[a/n: Of course Harry's upset that Hermione didn't tell him. And yes, _of course_ Draco can use this to do damage.]


	77. Not nearly

It was a nice morning outside, which just made Draco blink as he entered the Great Hall. He still hadn't come to any good conclusions. No, and the ones he had come to were not pleasant ones, not at all.

For one, Draco's position in House Slytherin had cracked, and was busy deciding whether it was going to fall into the gutter, or merely land on the floor. Draco knew he could help, one way or the other, with that. Either push, and get his friends in good with Nott, who was living the life, having been branded by the Dark Lord this summer, and thus feeling powerful enough to boss everyone else around. Or pull, and bring them all in line with him to suffer at Nott's whim. It was a difficult choice, and Draco felt like he might just decide to split the difference. Nobody expected Greg to actually pay attention, even though his eyes were keen, after all.

About the only thing that Draco could honestly say had improved over last year was the seating arrangements. He was, as usual, seated near the middle of the Slytherin table. Which meant, as usual, that he was watching the Gryffindors (he still wasn't at all sure that the Gryffindors had noticed that the Slytherins sat two to one facing them, and the one not facing often got reports). Harry Potter, that genial, affable, teeth-destroyingly sweet boy, was no more. Instead, the kid ... kinda just looked normal. Which is to say, a bit sad, a bit mopey. You know, like a teenager. Not chirpy McHappy the Big Yellow Bird. It was... almost calming, to know that _something_ could get under the bloody idiot's skin.

And Draco wouldn't be Draco Malfoy if he wasn't curious about what it was.

[a/n: No, Draco's not concentrating on Hermione. Why Would He? He's _trying_ to save everyone (for certain relatively Slytherin values of everyone).

Reviews please!]


	78. Gleeful Anticipation

Draco Malfoy walked into the Great Hall, feeling the gazes of Granger and Potter (though, oddly, not Weasely) on him. They weighed him with suspicion, uncertainty and a trace of fear wrought into their expressions like cold iron itself. It was stupendously amusing. They seriously had no clue that of all the people in Slytherin, Draco Malfoy was the least likely to hurt them.

For now, at least.

Always so suspicious, Potter was.

Draco Malfoy's skin crackled at the tension, knowing without really thinking about it that it was bound to break sooner or later.

Still, he gave a victorious grin to Pansy as he sat down, not realizing exactly how un-Malfoy-like the expression was.

* * *

"I didn't realize he _knew_ how to smile." Hermone said cattily.

Harry chuckled deeply at the thought. "Maybe he forgot he's not supposed to?"

Dean looked over, laughing, "What'd'ya mean he's not supposed to?"

Harry put on his imitation Snape voice (which, through long practice, was both spot on, and scary), "Slytherins should not display their emotion outwardly. They should instead adopt a placid, bland face, so as to hide what they really care about."

Seamus looked over, laughing, "That's rich! Just look at how often he blows up at you, Potter!"

Harry and Hermione exchanged a nervous glance. It was something they'd argued over, enough times to make honeybees faint. Harry'd reluctantly (very, very reluctantly) come to the conclusion that Snape couldn't possibly hate him as much as he acted like. There were too many other reasons for him to act that way.

[a/n: Harry Potter - incoming! Leave a review!]


	79. Eyes Drilling

Hermione lay in the library, on a plush window seat that had a delicious sunbeam (so rare for Hogwarts) sprawled over it. It was a pity that Crookshanks wasn't here to commandeer her rump, as the plumpest seat in the house. Hermione giggled at the thought, turning another page in her book on Recondite Charms.

Who would want to know the best way to tailor a vest to a horse? Some of these were truly, truly odd.* Still one never knew...

Hermione's mind began to wander, and, these days, there was really only one thing that her mind wandered toward. With a sigh, Hermione stared out the window, wondering about that boy - how had she not even gotten his name? - and what he was doing tonight. Hopefully he was safe, and dry, and warm someplace - although... it was somehow difficult to even picture him safe. She could, however, picture him standing in the wind, windblown and carefree. Somehow, somehow that worked better... Hermione felt her face begin to flush as she pictured him turning towards her, his intense blue eyes staring into hers.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood on the very edge of the Astronomy Tower, his glare having sent two third years running downstairs. He didn't even know why they'd bothered to come up here - it wasn't as if they were going to neck, or anything. He leaned back against the railing, his eyes trailing upwards, above the parapets, into the sky. The wind ruffled his hair, and he imagined it was her, soft hands tugging insistently, pulling his hair this way and that. The wind's embrace was chill, and cool, but it somehow reminded Draco of her. Slowly, his mouth turned upward into a small, sad smile. He turned around, looking out past the black waters into the darkling wood. Here, he was somewhere. Hogwarts was a fortification, a solid place where people belonged. Where was she? Out, windtossed like a lick of thistledown, somewhere in those places where people didn't belong. London was a fair place, and all, but it didn't speak of home.

* * *

Harry Potter looked at his map, again. It said, quite clearly, that Draco Malfoy was atop the Astronomy Tower. Not that his location was all that critical. No, Draco Malfoy was alone up there, and Harry Potter intended to take advantage of that. He just didn't understand why the albino bastard was holding his cards to his chest. It didn't make sense. Malfoy'd always been so eager to use any ammunition on him in the past.

Still, Harry thought, swallowing his frustration, I'm not actually looking for a fight. Just answers.

And so, here Harry sat, in an alcove near the bottom of the tower, waiting for Draco Malfoy to descend. He wanted to pace, to stare at his map, to do anything - but he dared not move. Quiet, small, hidden, - lurking and ready to strike.

* * *

Draco Malfoy descended from the tower, the look on his face weary, and his entire pointy face long at the mouth. He didn't want to descend into the snake pit - he'd rather just sleep atop the tower, nevermind that there'd be class in a few hours. Going home meant being responsible, meant watching his words, meant everything he simultaneously wanted to throw away, and gather to his arms and never let go.

Lost in thought, Draco Malfoy walked right past the alcove where Harry Potter lay in a crumpled ball, asleep.

*equine vestments were popular during the Middle Ages.

[a/n: Not every plan works, yes? Leave a review!]


	80. Oyyy

Hermione was having a Day. One of Those days. The kind where Ron, having decided that Hermione wasn't looking quite devastated enough, had decided to wrap his long, freckled arms around Lavender Brown, whose blond curls never seemed to misbehave like Hermione's. That was, quite naturally, because they were fake. Hermione'd well remembered her first meeting with the daft witch, when her hair had been pin straight, just like Parvati's. Apparently a bit of curl was in right now.

Not that Hermione was ever going to be in. Not like she cared, or anything, but just once in a while she wished her friends would notice she was a girl, and give her a compliment. Maybe about her eyes. Yes, that would be nice.

Worse, Harry was acting mad again, and that never boded well. Apparently, he had some sort of man-crush on Draco Malfoy, and was determined to catch him and gobble him all up!

But seriously, Harry was convinced that Malfoy was plotting his next strike in the War Against Potter (and Gryffindor In General). And so Harry, rather than having a nice, interesting conversation about Charms, was glaring at Malfoy, looking like his entire supper had turned to acid in his belly.

Malfoy, of course, was looking back. That calm, nearly transcendental face - until he smirked. Hermione could hear Harry Potter's fork and knife deforming (they weren't made out of cold iron, so were easier to bend). "Harry..." she whispered urgently to him, "Did you do the homework for Transfiguration?"

Harry looked at her, blinked, shook his head mutely... "I'm sorry, I forgot..." And then he turned those gorgeous puppy-dog green eyes on her. "Can I borrow yours, I really do know it, I just didn't get a chance to finish writing it." Hermione passed over the notes, smothering a smile at how easy Harry was to distract, even from his eternal quest to subjugate, conquer, or otherwise destroy Draco Malfoy.

[a/n: Hermione in her own headspace makes fun of her best friend. She's nowhere near confident enough to say stuff like that aloud.

Leave a review! Bubble bubble toil and trouble...]


	81. Slice 'em

Harry Potter was not a man of singular passion; his passions went deep, and played him like a fiddle.

This was the realization that Draco Malfoy came to, as he found himself slammed up against the castle wall, in a quite deserted part of the dungeons. Draco had been haunting the area because it was dour and eerie. Now, it was neither, so Draco Malfoy wanted Harry Potter to leave. And the fastest way towards that goal was to figure out what Harry Potter wanted.

Sadly, Draco knew that simply asking the Gryffindor wouldn't be the best move. Instead, he smirked.

"Why!?" Harry hissed at him.

"84." Draco Malfoy said, "Or did you want a more specific why? I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific, in that case." Draco wore his arrogance like a shell, and even when he was laughing at himself (as he was in this case), he was nearly expressionless - just a trace of a smug smirk.

"Why haven't you told anyone the secret Hermione told you about me?" Harry Potter said, having at least the decency and common sense to not mention it.

"Typical. Of course you haven't figured it out yet." Draco Malfoy said, playing for a bit of time, as he organized his lines.

"Figured out what?" Harry Potter demanded - ever so impatiently. It was tempting just to let him hang, to see how much more purple his darkish face could turn.

"I am going to _end_ you, Potter. You will crawl before me, and acknowledge my inherent superiority in all things." Draco Malfoy said, the edge of ice in his cold tones emphasizing his seriousness.

Harry Potter's eyebrows creased, and he looked as confused as Greg did when Draco gave him a puffskein. "What. The. Hell. Does that have to do with Anything?!" Harry Potter abruptly let Draco Malfoy drop from his previous position of "pinned against the wall by a fist in his solar plexus," starting to pace. "You've _always_ hated me. That's nothing new."

Draco Malfoy deliberately brushed his spotless robes off, enjoying the frustration writ large on Potter's face. "As to that..." Draco said, curling his fingers around his chin, running his index finger over his lips. Better talk before Potter explodes, he's turning a rather alarming shade of puce, and those fists aren't just for looks. "It would appear that I've now got some competition."

"Competition?!" Harry Potter said, looking entirely too baffled.* Draco Malfoy set that thought aside for consideration later.

"My father, Lord Voldemort, whomever." Draco Malfoy clarified. "My vengeance is coming, never fear. But for now, I will hold your secrets safer than your friends."

"Why?" Harry asked, his hands flexing into fists and back out again, in a strange sort of nervous habit.

"To use them against you, of course." Draco Malfoy said, "So, if you ever need to talk -"

"Why would I ever talk with you? Unlike you, I have friends."

"There are things you can't tell your friends."

"I tell my friends everything."

Draco leveled a look of skepticism at Potter then, smirking smugly, "No you don't. If you did, they'd be worried sick. You hide the truth, so they won't be concerned." Draco leveled a ten-galleon smile, "I can assure you I won't bear you the slightest shred of concern, no matter what you say."

Harry Potter somehow managed to look both flabbergasted and considering at once. "If I ever want to talk, I'll let you know." he growls, before stalking off, his hands still curling and uncurling into fists.

[a/n: this was originally supposed to be two different conversations, but Draco said his part fit, so I let him work it in.

Leave a review!]

*Harry, having been in deathly danger since eleven, has quite managed to forget that it's not normal.


	82. A simple question

Hermione Granger watched as her friend Harry Potter stormed into the Common Room, throwing himself on the couch beside her in a huff. "Well, that was weird."

Hermione Granger looked up, studying Harry, and asks, "Why, what happened?"

"Malfoy." Harry Potter said huffily. "It was just a bloody simple question! Instead of answering it-" Hnarry just shook his head, and then, abruptly collecting himself, he said quietly, "Not here."

"The library?" Hermione Granger said, and in moments was dragging him out the door. Neither of them really saw Ron Weasley glaring at them from where he'd been playing a horrible game of chess with Dean.

* * *

Arriving at the library, Hermione Granger ushered Harry Potter to her usual seat, deep in the annals of the library. "What, exactly, did you want to ask Malfoy? You don't voluntarily talk to a snake... well, at least not the human kind."

Harry Potter smirked cheerlessly at her joke, "I just... wanted to know why he hadn't... used the house I almost got into against me yet..."

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione said, "You do realize that if he knows he's getting under your skin, he's going to be that much worse."

Harry Potter sighed, saying, "Unfortunately. But... I dunno, maybe not this time."

Hermione looked at Harry, who was unaccountably fidgeting, and otherwise looking nervous. "Harry." Hermione said, giving that "down the nose" look that said, "spit it out already."

"He said, if you can believe it, that I could talk to him."

"And... what possible reason would he have for believing you'd like to do that?" Hermione said, chortling a soft belly laugh.

"Erm... seemed to think I wouldn't tell you about things, because you'd worry." Harry Potter said, his hand awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

"And where would he get that impression?" Hermione said sternly, well aware that Harry liked keeping secrets if it was for someone else's good.

"Not this year! Honest!" Harry said, "I mean... I know I haven't exactly been Mr. Sunshine lately, but you know - with Sirius and all that." Harry scratched the back of his neck again, saying "Nothing much to keep secret, really."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, using one arm to pull him into a half hug. She laughed a little, "He actually expected you to believe he'd not tell your secrets? After the dragon episode?"

"Yeah, but you'd love how he put it - all saying that he's going to use them against me, eventually."

"Now that sounds a lot more like him." Hermione said, nodding knowingly.

"Apparently he doesn't want his revenge getting confused with Voldemort or his father's."

"He's not worried about you dying before he can enact his revenge?" Hermione questioned.

"That arrogant arse? Of course not." And they both burst out laughing.

[God, I love writing Hermione. I can use Words! ... erm, on my other stories, where it's mostly Harry's perspective, he doesn't know words like annals.

I like reviews. will you write me one?]


	83. A day late and a sickle short

The easiest way to get information out of a Gryffindor was to play on their gregarious natures. Luckily for Draco Malfoy, Potter and his Golden Friends were prone to leaving their private quarters in order to get more privacy.

And so it happened that Draco Malfoy had overheard the entire conversation between the Gryffindor swot and the Spectacled jock.

He had two things to think about - one of them was Sirius Black. The other was how infuriating it was to have acted, in a way that might have worked, had he only tried it sooner.

Oh, it was pure foolishness, he thought, striding up the stairs to the top of the Astronomy Tower, to think that he would have even thought to do this last year. Pure and utter foolishness. Still... He wanted pretty badly to blast something to smithereens.

After all, it was a rare thing that Draco Malfoy tried to do, and failed.

Reaching the top of the Astronomy Tower, Draco Malfoy felt the chill wind blowing. In Scotland, even Septembers were brisk.

Stretching his arms out along the bannister, Draco Malfoy cast his gaze upon the Forbidden Forest, trying not to think about himself in there as a first year, cruelly punished for something that Potter had done.

Casting his mind away from prior foolishness, on his part and others, Draco Malfoy thought of Sirius Black, the scion of the mad, but powerful Black family... The one his mother had hardly mentioned, and whenever she did, she broke off - looked a little lost, and continued as if he'd never existed.

Potter's... godfather? Draco slowly recollected, his mind stuck remembering the Dementors and their omnipresent aura of fear. The one who was imprisoned? As a Muggle-killing Mass Murderer?

Draco's lips thinned into a line. Something was wrong here, and Draco'd bet money it was the press that had it wrong... perhaps the ministry too, for that matter. Oh, Draco Malfoy might not be able to prove jack in the court of law, but to even think that Harry Potter might have befriended a psychotic Muggle-hater? The mind boggled. Draco Malfoy would trust Potter's heart (well that, and his words when he was speaking to a friend. He hadn't the need to lie, so clearly Potter wasn't lying, however inconvenient or unbelievable the words were.).

Something had happened to Sirius Black. Draco considered. Perhaps his parents would know more.

 _Dear Mum,_

 _I'm writing to ask a quick question for my astronomy class. Have you noticed anything different in the vicinity of Vega this year?_

 _Sadly, at Hogwarts, the light is too much for me to accurately gauge the change in intensity._

 _your son,_

 _-Draco Malfoy_

[a/n: yes, this is a decent way to probe for answers. Narcissa may take a while to respond, however... Leave a review?]


	84. One More

Draco Malfoy woke with a start, his startled yelp echoing between his muffling curtains. He knew one other thing, one thing that he hadn't thought of yesterday.

Potter had taken the matter to Granger, the more levelheaded of his friends. If he'd just wanted to bitch and complain about Draco Malfoy, he could simply have taken it to Ron Weasley. But he didn't!

And that was significant. It meant that, no matter how frustrated and confused Harry Potter looked, he was ... trying for understanding.

Hope was a fey and slippery thing, and Draco Malfoy told himself to not cling to it too tightly, lest it flutter away and settle around someone else for the day. Still, he felt its warmth, and strode through the halls with a will.

He still hadn't decided exactly what he was doing with his House, and he had the feeling that if he didn't decide soon, that he'd lose all choice altogether. You swum or you sunk, after all.

* * *

Hermione Granger had decided that she didn't like this new Draco Malfoy terribly much at all. Oh, the old one was ridiculously annoyng - almost ot the point of parody... Still, , this one kept distracting her with unpredictability. She wasn't the type who needed everything to fit exactly - but this was far outside anything approaching standard Malfoy Parameters.

Hermione was eating alone at lunch, which was practically like eating at home, the same stillness that let her sink into the book she was reading. As she did so, she wrapped a stray lock of hair around her finger. _I miss him, I miss him so much._

[a/n: Set up chapter. But, seriously, did you notice that Draco forgot that?' Leave a review, it'll get me back writing this one more.


	85. Startled from a dream

Hermione was seven years old, and she was punching her pillow, clutching it tight as she howled, tears running down her face. "Andre! Andre!"

In her dream, Hermione felt the cruel taunts of the playground bullies, how she had stupid teeth, and her hair was unkempt and she looked like a ragamuffin. (Her clothes were torn, but from climbing a tree no one else dared to). It had all gotten too much, and now she wanted her friend. The friend she only vaguely remembered from two whole years ago. "Andre..." she cried, and she thought that she'd write him a letter, if only she knew where he lived.

Hermione woke up from the dream, startled at someone shaking her bed. "Oh, it's just you, Parvati" Hermione laughs, her bleary eyes still looking a bit bloodshot from the dream tears.

"Just me!" Parvati giggled. "You were having a tumultuous dream..."

"Oh, Vati, don't start." Hermione said, "you know I don't believe in divination."

"Yes, but these are dreams... or memories." Vati said, "you look like this one struck you hard in the solar plexus anyway."

"Maybe it did, Vati" Hermione said. "Still, I don't want to talk about it right now."

Hermione tried to put it out of her mind for the rest of the day, but it was only when she was up on theAstronomy tower, looking out and trying to figure out where her "Welsh" man was, that the answer blazed into her brain. _Andre was nearly certainly the boy she was engaged to._

[a/n: I shouldn't have to write this, but if you're wondering why she's slightly tweaked Draco's name? Andre's a lot more common than Draco, and they pretty much only addressed each other with single syllable names.

Leave a review?


	86. Eyes that do not see

Hermione Granger lay in her bed, trying to not sigh, and moreso, thinking of putting up a privacy spell. It had burnt her ears to know that Harry and Ron had heard her! But... but... but... if Lavender and Parvati couldn't hear... Oh, but they'd be nearby! With not even a door between them... except if draperies count, and Hermione's were half translucent anyway. True, she could get under the covers, if she wanted to end up soaked in sweat...

Screw it. Under the covers we go! Hermione hissed the privacy spell, as she let herself float on the lassitude and yearning that had seemingly crept up on her over the past few weeks.

In Slytherin's dorms, Draco Malfoy was much less inhibited, confining himself to just a simple silencing spell. He didn't mind if Theo caught him, because he was straight as an arrow, and therefore more likely to spread tales about Malfoy's size than anything else. And Malfoys always knew the value of a good reputation.

Over an hour later, they were both warm and content, even if they both felt like they were missing something...someone to share.

* * *

Draco Malfoy had woken in a good mood. He had nearly smiled (alone in the room when Theo was doing his morning ablutions). Unfortunately, it seemed that Pansy was undergoing some perverse sort of PMS, in that she was being completely haywire about being territorial about him. Halfway to Charms, she had shrieked at an entire herd of Hufflepuff girls (who, to be fair, were ogling him) that they'd better stay away from her betrothed. "Everyone's looking at you, Draco," She shouted, "Well, they can't have you! You're mine!" She said, and her jealousy was palpable enough that the sensitive Hufflepuffs began to tiptoe away.

Suddenly Pansy was looking at a person behind Draco, and shrieking (right in his ear, Ow.), "That goes triply for you, Mudblood!"

Draco Malfoy looked lazily at Pansy, and said, "Oh, don't be ridiculous. Granger wouldn't look at me twice. You and I both know that she doesn't have a semblance of taste."

"Of course I have taste," Hermione said, her hands curling into fists.

"Oh?" Pansy smirked, "Just look at the clothes you're wearing."

"ooooh, low blow, Pans," Draco chuckled, "Expecting someone with zero taste to understand."

Hermione Granger, by this time, had come to ... an interesting ... conclusion, "We're wearing the SAME CLOTHES! They're Uniforms!"

"Oh, are we now?" Draco said, smirking, "Come along, Pansy, this fashion reject isn't worth our time. Too much of a stick up her arse to realize when she's wrong, and won't take advice from her betters."

[a/n: Yup. Picking on Hermione now. Because, for once, she's really wrong.

I love this scene. It's fun to actually have Draco being in the right, for once.

Reviews?]


	87. On the edge of the firelight

Draco had started to pace. He hadn't even realized he was doing it, which was an indication of exactly how troubled he was. Slytherins always knew their own cues, their own tells. And Draco Malfoy's pacing would tell anyone within eyeshot that he was aggravated. That he was thinking, and that his thoughts weren't sitting well with him.

It was a feeling, an awkward, half shadowy feeling, which felt a lot like deja vu. It was a feeling of familiarity, that would catch him at the oddest of times. And... longing. Which was really, really frustrating, as the only person he longed for was leagues away from here.

Moments of recognition, like a kaleidoscope aligning, for just a brief, distracting second. Too brief to even know what it was about, even.

And yet, somehow, he was getting those feelings. Distracting feelings. They weren't strong, they were soft and light, a little like frost on windows - delicate and shimmering.

He wanted to sit down and have a conversation with his mind, treat this unformed, inchoate feeling like a wild animal at the edge of the firelight of his consciousness. He wanted to lure it into the light, to see with his eyes exactly what it was.

And then, he would strangle it, let it squirm under his fingers until it took it's last breath.

[a/n: Draco's not terribly happy with himself. And it's _really_ aggravating when you don't quite know what you're thinking.

Please, review!]


	88. Fading

Draco Malfoy always was an attentive child, and so, troubled, when he went to the top of the highest tower in Hogwarts, to try and see past the Forbidden Forest, past Hogsmeade, to some semblance of normalcy that he'd never known... the Muggle world. It hadn't had any allure to him, in of itself. He hadn't gone there full of curiosity and brimming with questions. No, he'd gone there to escape... and he'd found something more.

Draco Malfoy tried to pull her memory to the front of his mind. He shook as he did, feeling the memory itself unraveling, slowly, the way memories often did, as time and tide wash away the particulars, leaving... leaving just the smoothness of a smile, just the remembered echo of softness.

Draco Malfoy was not about to let that happen. Not here, not now. Not to this memory.

So, up on top of Hogwarts, he conjured a parchment and a quill, and began to draw. It wouldn't be perfect, his drawing wasn't even very good, but he could at least have this, for a memory.

Ink would not fade like his memory would.

And he'd need some way to find her again, were that even possible.

He clung to that small, frail hope like a drunk, adrift sailor clings to a bit of driftwood.

Forlornly.

* * *

Hermione was in her bed when she realized she couldn't quite remember the way his bangs had fallen. It was startling, to feel something, someone, so significant slipping away, like water falling through cupped hands, no matter how tightly you tried to hold it.

She knew she wasn't an artist, and briefly considered talking with Dean, before deciding that it was a little too personal, and that she could easily write down descriptions beside any sketch that she might do.

She drew, with pencil, a quick sketch, and then started with ink, using color to bring to striking life something that would only live on the page.

Unless she saw him again.

It didn't really matter, in the end, how poor her drawing was - and it was abysmal. This would help anchor her.

[a/n: Memories aren't crystal until the end of time.

Reviews please!]


	89. Ending the Silent Treatment

Harry Potter was about to scream at Ron Weasley. This was nothing new, but Harry didn't think this feeling was going to go away anytime soon.

Ron, you see, had apparently tired of giving Hermione Granger the silent treatment. (Hermione, though she cared, was doing her best not to show it, which had worked...if you count backfiring spectacularly as working).

Because Ron had a New Plan, and that was Make Hermione Jealous. Specifically, he was "hooking up" with Lavender Brown, a girl he knew Hermione Granger detested.

UN-fortunately, unlike every other couple in Hogwarts, they were literally hooked at the mouth. Which was both rather disgusting, and something Harry Potter didn't want to look at, particularly... particularly because he didn't have _anyone_.

And so, not only was Hermione (still trying to be ice cold) truly not caring about the damn relationship, but "WonWon" and LavLav were inflicting it upon the entire Great Hall.

... which meant, of course, that Draco Malfoy was coming over, to inflict more misery.

* * *

There were few things that could delight Draco Malfoy. As a child, the world had been filled with wonders, but age had tarnished most of them, and what age hadn't eroded, the thought of danger, of Voldemort in particular, had erased the rest as if they never existed. Even being on a broom wasn't... exhilarating anymore.

But this? This was priceless. Hermione Granger, bookworm extraordinaire, was reading at the table - which was decidedly normal and hence boring. However, her 'best friend' Ron Weasley was making out with Lavender Brown (in an openly lustful display). Hadn't Granger and Weasel been dating?

Oh, Draco Malfoy was not going to sit here and just watch this. No, he was most certainly not.

Wearing a wolfish smirk, he sauntered over towards the Gryffindor table.

* * *

Hermione Granger had said that she wasn't going to date Ron. In fact, she was still perfectly furious at him, and hadn't spoken to him in weeks. However, that didn't mean it didn't hurt, just a little, to see how easily Ron was moving on. To see how loose, and blatant, and in-your-fucking-face, Ron was being. He hadn't had the decency to even tell her. Hermione Granger didn't want to admit, truly, just how glad she was that Ron had turned his face to anyone else, though. It might backfire. Did he really think she'd be jealous? Well, maybe a little, Hermione thought with a sigh. _I miss him..._

 _And, great, here comes Pompous Prat Malfoy._

[a/n: ending this here just so you'll have a bit of time to speculate on what Malfoy's gonna do. Leave a review, please!]


	90. Potent poison, dark and vile

Draco Malfoy swaggered over to the Gryffindor table, the look just a bit big for his thin shoulders. Still, he wore the arrogance well. Draco put one hand on a chair, leaving him standing beside Granger, looking at the amorous couple. "Well, well, well, look who finally got a clue." Draco drawled. And Granger, who had honestly been doing a good job of looking unaffected, stiffened beside him. _How interesting..._

In fact, Draco had been expecting more of a reaction from Weasel and his overly affectionate paramour. Instead, they seemed so preoccupied with kissing each other that Draco Malfoy was tempted to send them each a stinging hex in their nether regions simply for _ignoring_ him!

Potter seemed a bit more adept at reading the mood, his green eyes burning as they glared at Draco, who smirked in reply. "Buzz off, Malfoy, no one wants you here."

"How could I pass up observing such an obviously inappropriate spectacle?" Malfoy smirked, "You do realize you're going to get your friend detention, don't you?"

"What do you mean?" Harry Potter said, frowning in dull incomprehension.

"Well..." Malfoy drawled, "Since Weasel there isn't smart enough to think of this himself, I believe you were the one who talked him out of pining for the prudish, virginal prig over here, and convinced him that Brown is an easy fuck any day of the week."

Harry shot back, " _That_ is not my _fault_!" _Interesting, not even Weasel's best friend approves of his choices._

Apparently Lavender Brown had been listening more than Weasel had (was this his first time kissing? Malfoy idly wondered. He certainly seemed preoccupied enough for that to have been the case), as her hands fisted on Weasel's shirt, her blue eyes glaring up at Malfoy. If she was a more competent witch, he'd be thinking about how to avoid a hex about now... as it was, she hissed, "You take that back, Malfoy."

"Oh, if only I could," Malfoy said, in an unctuous and delighted manner, "but my cock down your throat last week says otherwise."

"How crude," Granger said, disapprovingly. "It's a wonder you made prefect with a mouth like that."

Weasel, having been deprived of his present oxygen-deprivation, looked up at Malfoy - more upset that he'd lost Brown's attention than at anything Malfoy had actually said. "Enjoy my sloppy seconds." Malfoy said, raising an eyebrow, as he turned away.

Malfoy smirked as he swaggered down the hall, knowing that Weasel was trying to kill him with a death glare.

[a/n: Malfoy's an unrepentant ass. Most people just leave their enemies alone. Malfoy's more the type to set the fox in the henhouse, sowing chaos and discord among his enemies. So is the Slytherin way.

This was originally just going to be Ron and Lav being disgustingly loveydovey, and Harry about ready to rip his hair out. Unfortunately, Malfoy wanted a piece of pretty much everyone.

Leave a review?]


	91. Crookshanks

"Here, crooksie crooksie crooksie..." Hermione said beguilingly, dangling a stinky anchovy from her hand. She wasn't sure where Crookshanks had gotten off to this time, only that this year, he'd decided that her room was no longer nearly as entertaining, and was often nowhere to be found. She didn't want him and Filch's pet cat getting into a fight (or making babies), she just wanted her kitty kept safe and happy in her room.

But where was Crookshanks? Had he gotten more adventurous than putting his bottlebrush tail over Ron's nose (causing ron to wake up with a case of the sneezes?).

She'd been all up and down Gryffindor Tower, and now, her only hope was Ravenclaw Tower - that her wayward pet had developed more of a fascination with chasing birds, and was currently lurking up on a windowsill or ledge.

If Crooksie had decided to chase rats, however - well, that didn't bear thinking about. Not until Hermione had looked everywhere else. Perhaps she could get Harry to use the Marauder's Map...

But if she could find her familiar on her own, she wanted to do that. So, the call went up, in lonely dusty hallways and cluttered with students corridors, "Crookshanks! Crooksie Crooksie Crooks!"

It was around the fiftieth corridor that she had tried. She was on her hands and knees, waving an anchovy into a small hole in the wall...

"Not that I don't think that position suits your muddy blood, Granger, but what exactly are you doing there?" Pansy Parkinson drawled arrogantly.

"Looking for Crookshanks..." Hermione said, diverting a minimal amount of attention to the Slytherin.

She didn't realize her mistake until Pansy's pointed, painted fingernails were physically turning her head towards Pansy's painted face. The sheer gall and arrogance! "Who, or what, is a Crookshanks?"

"My familiar. A cat with the newfound tendency to wander." Hermione grit out, just wanting the Slytherin to go away.

Because she was so busy searching for her cat, she didn't see Pansy crease her mouth into a troubled frown, or the hurried pace at which she lept away from that particular corridor.

[a/n: Da-da-duh! What's going on, now? Guesses welcome, reviews moreso!]


	92. Decisions

Harry Potter was watching the Slytherin table. It looked a little different this year, but had started to actually settle out. Particularly the fifth years, in which, for once, Draco soddin' Malfoy seemed to be sitting off by himself. He certainly wasn't anywhere near Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting near Nott, instead. Malfoy still had Pansy Parkinson sitting beside him, and the Greengrass girls were sitting in between - in such a place that they didn't look like they were favoring either side. Other years had similar arrangements, Harry saw, as he watched carefully. But, he thought, the arrangements didn't quite make sense to him. The Greengrasses, sure, he knew they weren't Death Eaters - but Malfoy was, and Parkinson's family might as well be. So why were they sitting so far away from Goyle and Nott? What was going on? And Zambini was flat out gone. Harry wanted to call that cowardice, and perhaps it was. But he wasn't always sure he wouldn't have preferred to have cowardly parents.

And Harry had seen, from discrete glances around, that the books he'd purchased at Diagon Alley had gone mostly to Slytherins. Not all the Slytherins (Nott, notably, didn't have one). But Why? Why would Slytherins, of all people, be unable to go to Diagon Alley? Certainly Snape wouldn't have asked Harry Potter to do something without a solid reason - he wasn't one for owing people favors, and Harry Potter least of all.

Harry wanted to ask someone, wanted to talk with Dumbledore, to do practically anything other than sit, and watch, and wait. Trying to divine human relationships was harder than predicting the future with tea leaves.

[a/n: Welcome to HarryWorld, where he really hasn't had the training first-year Slytherins get. Leave a review?

This is how Draco Malfoy decided to place people (although, to be fair, placing the Greengrass girls anywhere other than true neutral would be likely to see them say no, so Draco did what he did to retain authority there)]


	93. Parity

Up on the ramparts of Hogwarts, two people lay sprawled, each thinking of the other, and their minds both miles away. Hermione remembered that soft, gentle touch, and Draco remembered her warmth - and that she had actually listened. He wasn't sure he knew of anyone in his life who'd ever done that except out of duty, or to get something out of it. Hermione lay on her belly, thinking of that troubled face, of memories that seemed too close to the surface - of decisions unmade, or made in vain.

How many people were dead because of what he'd done? Hermione thought, though her mind wouldn't let her think that he'd truly been... evil. There were times when death was a kindness, and not just for the ailing. But from that troubled look on his face,s he knew that he wouldn't, couldn't push the pain behind him, leave behind the questionable decisions that plagued him. It was that, just as much as his patent inteligence, that drew her to him. Her friends were flash-in-a-pan people - angry and gleeful in turn, but always quick to change. At some point it would be Ron especially, and at some point it would be Harry. But they got along so well because they'd push aside pain that they'd caused.

 _He_ wasn't like that.

Draco thought of talking until the moon was full in the sky, tracking over decisions, possibilities, gedankenexperiments. Speaking, and responding, for the sheer joy of seeing the answer in her face, seconds before she said a word. Pansy would listen to him, of course, but she wasn't deep in quite that way. She'd lay out intricate plans, but if something wasn't spitting in her face, she generally preferred to avoid it. She'd have gone on avoiding the Dark Lord if she could. Draco wasn't like that.

 _She_ wasn't like that.

[a/n: As the moon rises, two people dream of the impossible.

Leave a review?]


	94. Not so brave

Hermione Granger looked up from her work, somewhat startled that Harry had sat down with her, as he tended to do so only over breakfast (when he'd beg for homework) instead of dinner - when he was far more likely to be talking Quiddich with Ron. Or, attempting to, at any rate. With Ron's head all muddled with Lavender Brown, it was a harder thing to do.

Harry had a crafty look about him, a sort of suppressed amusement, which instantly put Hermione on her guard, though she knew that Harry'd never pull a mean prank that Ron had suggested. Still, she'd had years of being picked on in elementary school. She looked inquiringly at Harry, who -actually- smirked. "Have you noticed,yet?" Harry said with a suggestive nod over at the Slytherin table.

Hermione turned to look, and asked, "Noticed what?"

Harry inclined his chin up, and said, "Look at where Crabbe and Goyle are sitting..."

Hermione nodded, having noticed that they weren't sitting near Malfoy anymore.

"Wanna bet that Malfoy isn't as brave without his goons backing him up?" Harry asked, breaking into a full, teasing grin.

"Harry James Potter! Don't you dare!" Hermione scolded.

"Aww..." Harry said, "Not even a little?" He batted his eyes at her, and said in a low mutter that belied his earlier jocularity, "You know he called you worse than slime."

"That doesn't mean you have to do anything to him. He degrades himself by lowering himself to insults. I'll not have you do the same, Harry James Potter." Hermione said.

"Still..." Harry said, smiling, "I think our fortunes may be looking up this year..."

"Because of him?!" Hermione said, astounded.

"Fewer detentions make me a happy boy." Harry said, grinning widely, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh back.

[a/n: Sometimes people aren't completely serious about every damn thing. Leave a review!]


	95. The Cat in Malfoy's Bed

Draco Malfoy was coming back from the library, his gait slightly listing from the weight of books. This year was proving to be treacherous, in more ways than one. He couldn't afford to have poor grades. Not _now_. But it seemed like the Professors were just _dying_ to work them to death. And while that would have been funny if it'd just been ol' Snape-eyes (who would somehow have managed to make the Gryffindors' lives even more hellish than his own)... it was every single teacher, and That Got Old.

Draco had a small desk set up in his room (now private, courtesy of Zambini leaving. - come to think of it, Snape'd shown a trace of sensitivity by not jamming him together with Nott. That would have been awful.), and he opened the door with numerical thoughts marching through his head. He strode in, and set his satchel down, and only as he started to open it...

Draco froze. There was a giant, orange, illtempered hellbeast on his bed, pure malice in feline form.

Draco stood, and slowly backed toward the door, grateful that the hellbeast appeared to be sleeping. Of course, if he was marooned in a foreign room, he'd be just pretending to be asleep, so best assume the cat was the same.

Draco strode toward the Slytherin Common room, and stopped at its threshold, steely silver eyes raking the room.

 _Pansy_ , on the couch, sprawled like a queen.

Draco strode over to Pansy, settling lightly behind her on the couch, as he pulled her into a firm embrace around her midriff. Girls nearby were giggling and pointing, their eyes dilated with romantic dreams. "When you said I needed a cat in my bed, I didn't think you meant that _literally_..."

Pansy stiffened, turning around to place a gentle hand on his chest, as she smiled sweetly for their audience - instead of poking him with her index finger and looking haughty. "It's your turn. I'm not dealing with it."

"You certainly dealt with it enough to put it in my room... Besides, it's your turn."

"If you ask me to take it to her, you may have a murder on your hands. As prefect..."

"You'd be in worse trouble than I would, that's for sure," Draco said, chuckling as if at a joke.

"Draco..." She said sweetly, and then in a low,purring undertone, "You'll do what I want, because you know I know everything."

"But I don't want to..."

"Someone has to, and you can't have Goyle do it."

"But he's good with beasts and mudbloods!"

"It's Your Turn."

"Fine." Draco Malfoy said.

[a/n: entire conversation, aside for that for public consumption, was conducted sotto voce. Because Slytherins (also, Draco was annoyed).

Leave a review? Lavender brown has decided to give me an entire plotline, because she's apparently sick of everyone treating her like she's a limp dishrag rather than a Person with an Agenda and Feelings, thank you very much.]


	96. Come With Us

Draco Malfoy knew what he'd have done last year - or nearly. Had he ever been put in a position like this, last year, he'd have gotten Greg and Vince to pick up the obnoxious bitch and take her to a convenient place to give her back the cat. She'd have been suspicious, but a promise from both of them not to hurt her would probably have dampened any paranoia sufficiently to allow that rampant - to the point of haywire- curiousity to escape.

However, this was not that year, and Greg and Vince were busy convincing Nott that he'd managed to gain supremacy over Draco. More fool he.

Draco would have to do this on his own. And that meant convincing Granger to come to a place where he could easily convey the cat. You know, the one with four paws, each of which has five claws - and loves to use them? Yeah, that cat. Draco hadn't gotten near it in the past two days - he'd slept out on the chaise in the common room, and not minded a bit. He'd slept in harder places before, after all.

Draco drafted a letter, in forest-green ink,

 _I have something that belongs to you._

 _If you want it back, meet me in the alcove at the back of the third corridor_

 _from Snape's classroom, as you head towards the Great Hall. After dinner works for me._

 _This is not a ruse._

Draco's mouth quirked at the last line. It would drive Pothead to distraction, if he ever saw it. It might drive Granger to distraction, too - but she was vastly more likely to show up, if he ended it that way. Not a name, though the calligraphy would indicate pureblood, and the green Slytherin.

He could expect shock on her face when she entered the alcove - first for seeing him there, and second for him cradling her cat.

I'll need to transfigure some leathers, he thought. I'm not getting scratched by that hellbeast. Or the cat.

Luckily, Granger lived in the library, and so Draco Malfoy only had to find a time when most people weren't there.

Before breakfast generally qualified, so Draco simply slid the note under her notebook, with it's strange pages and spiral binding. He wanted to look at it more closely, but really didn't dare. Was it a Muggle thing? Draco hadn't seen such before (not even in class), and he _hated_ not knowing things.

[a/n: Of course Malfoy knows she'd be curious. What's the phrase? Know thy enemy, and Granger's enemy is her curiosity. Please review!]


	97. Stupid Brave

Draco Malfoy crept quietly from his room, through the Slytherin Common Room (which was nearly deserted due to dinner), and out to that alcove. In his leather clad arms, lay Granger's hellbeast of a cat. Not that the chit was much less of a vituperative termagant. Draco Malfoy settled in to wait. He'd do most anything to avoid the spectacle that would have arisen had girls seen him with a cat, even a large, ugly, shedding orange _cat_ like this.

Draco Malfoy did _not_ do cute. The girls were bad enough - had been for years. If he did cute, he'd have girls throwing themselves at him. Literally. Pansy was "bad" enough, but at least she wasn't _serious_. Just very, very angry.*

While he waited, he lay odds on how many Gryffindors would appear. Sensible people would bring three or four - too many more than that, and they'd be entirely ineffectual in such close quarters. However, this was Granger, and there was the slim, stupid possibility that she might show up on her own. To the Slytherin dungeons. It was, of course, more probable that she'd show up with Potty or the Red. Or, most probably, both.

Granger was unconscionably loud bumbling her way into the alcove, and it wasn't because she was carrying so many books. Lacking all sense of etiquette, the Mudblood was just... a Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy bit back a comment, as the cat in his arms clawed ineffectually on the double-layered leather long-sleeved gloves and yowled, nearly loud enough to deafen him.

Hermione Granger's face lit up, and for a moment, she only had eyes for her cat, "Oh Crooksie! Where have you been? Come to Mummy!"

Which, naturally, the cat who had failed to respond to any command, ever, now did.

"Astoria was busy." Draco Malfoy said coldly, thinking that if this was last year, he wouldn't have to deal with this harridan - Astoria was good at seeming nice, and so he'd been quite happy to let her handle many of the softer interactions with the other Houses. "Keep your cat out of the dungeons, or I won't be responsible for what happens."

Granger somehow managed to get the cat up on her shoulder, and she put her hands on her hips, snapping back, "Is that a _threat_ , Malfoy? Are you so pathetic that you're threatening a kittycat?"

"No," Draco Malfoy responded, curbing his emotions as usual - settling for a rolling of his eyes, "I hate you, not your cat."

Suddenly Granger was leaning forward, almost as if she was studying his face, "Wait-" her face had actually morphed into a surprised look, "You meant that literally, didn't you? You aren't leading Slytherin anymore, so you can't be held reponsible..."

Draco Malfoy didn't know what to say, and that was a state he rarely found himself in, so he settled for sneering at her, and saying, "Is that all?"

Hermione Granger left in a huff, but so long as that malevolent cat was leaving, Draco Malfoy was willing to call it a good day. It had been stupid brave of her to show her face in the Slytherin dungeons, with the way the world was turning. Nott wouldn't deign to even scheme against a Mudblood, but others weren't as arrogant. Years of bad blood had kept Malfoy from mentioning this, but from the sound of it, Granger had enough smarts to stitch together the situation, if not the innate caution to let the situation guide her actions.

[a/n: Up next, more maundering, and then Lavender Brown - "I am not a dishrag!"

Leave a review!]

*a bit of an explanation for Pansy sitting on Draco's lap the entire summer. She's not normally like that, though she does do possessive well.


	98. Snippets of Dreams

It was three hours past the witching hour, the time when hearts are at their ebb. Two people stirred in wakeful slumber, their resting minds leaping towards facsimiles of each other. And, in these dreams, they held each other close, twisting and turning around each other.

And when they woke, they each did so with a sigh, the knowledge that a loved one is so far off that they might as well be on the Moon.

Draco Malfoy wandered down to the Common Room, caring little that he wasn't supposed to. From beneath the Black Lake, he stared up at the Moon, wishing for bright blue eyes and long black hair.

Hermione Granger clutched a book to her chest, as she created the stars, reading their names aloud, "Altair, Sirius, Aldebaran." Anything to distract her from the pull of those laughingly clear blue eyes, and that warm wheat-colored hair.

[a/n: As if you needed reminding that they have been fantasizing about disguises... Leave a review!]


	99. Hacking a trifle to bits

Draco Malfoy had this niggling little feeling, almost like spider's feet on the back of his neck. It was an almost recognition, a thing that he shouldn't be forgetting about, but somehow was. It was a fuzzy little feeling, and he had the sense that if he pulled on it, thought about it, hard enough, that he'd be able to pull it into full focus and, crystal clear, it would actually tell him what it was all about.

And, somehow, this feeling had something to do with Potions - an otherwise unremarkable class, filled with the same people it had been filled with since the beginning of the year, and they'd all been the expected people (Weasel and Potty of course skating in on fame alone). He was sure it wasn't Slughorn raising his hackles like this.

It was almost like dejavu...

Absentmindedly, Draco Malfoy stood, looking down at his plate just long enough to see that he'd neatly hacked his trifle to bits, leaving it completely uneaten. Sloppy that. Someone would notice.

Draco's eyes rose unbidden to the Gryffindor table, and, as usual, he saw those bright green eyes looking back. _Bloody_ stalker, Draco thought crossly...

"Malfoy looks worried, doesn't he?" Harry asked Hermione, who silently cursed her friend's obsession.

"I guess," Hermione said, "I wasn't looking."

"He completely demolished that trifle..." Harry said, sounding almost wistful.

"What, did you want it? Figure the ones on the Slytherin table come frosted with pride?" Hermione said, her teeth flashing at the wit.

Harry chuckled. "No, see, he didn't eat it at all,"

Hermione looked up sharply at that, swayed from her own meal by the oddity. "That _is_ odd..." Truth be told, she often wished that Harry would inflict his conspiracy theories on Ronald. But, ever since Ronald had chosen to lock himself permanently at the lips with Lavender Brown, Harry nearly always turned to Hermione for conversation. Wistfully, she thought back to the times when she'd been jealous of Ron taking up Harry's time.

Maybe she should just say something to Lavender about Ron.

[a/n: Harry's sometimes a bit one note. And paranoid.

Leave a review.]


	100. Not more ladylike

It was nearing curfew when Hermione Granger came across Lavender Brown next - Hermione had been in her room, merrily reading a book on memory and intuition, and how the two tended to intertwine. Lavender Brown, as Hermione had noted for the ten seconds she'd been in the Common Room, had been letting Ronald snog the daylights out of her.

Hermione gently set the book aside, sitting up and staring at Lavender Brown, who was marked on her shoulders and neck by the force of Ronald's... lovebites. Or whatever you wanted to call them. They were tokens, physical marks to show to whom she exposed herself to. It was hideous, in a way, that he felt like he needed to ...

But, of course, Ronald wasn't doing it for love. He was doing it for revenge.

Hermione sniffed, and suddenly spat out, "You realize he's just using you!"

Lavender, who had been walking with her washing satchel* towards the baths, looked over at Hermione, and for an instant seemed to be smothering a smile. She raised her hand to her lips, and let out a hearty guffaw. With such a loud laugh, she didn't look the least bit ladylike, even with the facade of covering her mouth.

"My dear, what makes you think I'm not using him?" Lavender said, her eyes dancing with delight.

"He's just going to break your heart. He doesn't really love you." Hermione said back.

"Of course he doesn't love me!" Lavender said, prowling around Hermione until she was behind her, "But what ever possessed the smartest girl in the class to think that I love him?"

Hermione looked at Lavender, her head spinning nearly 90 degrees around to get her in sight, saying, "You let him... and you don't...?" Her eyes were wide.

"Haven't you ever even thought of it?" Lavender said, sitting on Hermione's bed with a bounce, "Have the fun, without caring so much if it goes on forever?"

"No..." Hermione said, her mind whirling.

"Now, don't you call me a slut, because I ain't." Lavender said, "I do one at a time, and I choose who I want. And that redhead? He's mighty friendly right now..." Lavender shared a catty smile.

"And... if he does break your heart?" Hermione asked tentatively, no longer so sure she knew what was going on.

Lavender giggled loudly, "Assuming I didn't break his first, you mean?" Lavender leaned close, and said, "I know a spell or two that you don't know. One that wears off when I want it to, which might as well be never if I'm that mad."

Hermione, eyes suddenly glittering with interest, said, "Show me."

Lavender said, "Are you sure? I'd have to put it on you, at least for a second or two...?" Hermione nodded eagerly.

"Close your eyes, then, you won't like how this looks..." Lavender said, and she incanted a half-syncopated string of Latin that was more sung than spoken.

Hermione felt her nipples ... changing, and as she opened her eyes, she looked down to see two-inch dicks attached to both of her breasts. She looked up at Lavender, half fearing that Lavender had spoiled the spell, only to see Lavender grinning merrily, "They get bigger if he gets aroused, too!" she said, clapping her hands together.

"You won't teach me that spell, will you..." Hermione said softly.

"of course not! You know tons of spells I don't. I gotta keep one in reserve, for truly dire circumstances." Lavender said, and Hermione reflected that _there_ was the Lavender she knew, much more concerned with being dumped horribly than with getting hurt in a fight.

[a/n: we're not done with Lavender yet. But Hermione isn't always right, and Lavender's a pretty busty gal.

Leave a review!]

*like a shaving bag


	101. Chin Up

Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins were first to Potions class, as usual (Nott liked to arrive early, always had, and it wasn't worth it to challenge him over something so trivial. Besides, it _was_ better to be in Snape's good books). Somehow all the Gryffindors always managed to arrive so late that they were... _and here they come!_

Neville Longbottom was first, as if by arriving first he'd manage to do any better. In fact, Draco wasn't sure at all how he'd managed to get into Snape's sixth year class. Probably something leveraging his Herbology talent. Draco Malfoy figured it was the first smart thing the bumbling Gryffindor had ever managed to accomplish.

Then came the Irishman and Friend, too busy laughing at each other to pay attention. And Brown and Patil were similar, if they universally had more talent in one fingertip than the Irishman had in his whole body. They sat in the back, as usual.

Then Potter and Weasley plummeted into the room, coming in with all the stealth of a herd of rhinos being chased by a legion of elephants.

Which was odd. Where was Granger? She'd generally make certain that...

Professor Snape entered the classroom, with his usual sturm and drang, his robes swirling around him.

Hermione Granger entered behind him, her chin up, though her nose was quivvering, almost as if -

Oh, beloved Merlin, Draco Malfoy thought, his eyes finally finished analyzing Granger's face, and looking at her chest. There were penises there! On her nipples!

Draco blaunched, mortified to be looking - mortified for that to have happened to anyone.

At which point he felt, rather than saw, wands being drawn. Gryffindors. No use denying it, Malfoy thought, as he turned to his partner Pansy, and asked, "Was that your spell, Pansy dear?"

She tittered, the blush running up her face showing how embarrassed she was, as she said, "No, I thought it was you?"

Other Slytherin eyes had been looking at Nott, who looked unconcerned.

Only Parvati Patil, of all people, had her eyes wide. _She knows something I don't._

And then the Potions Master turned around.

He strode up to Miss Granger, and sneered, "That is hardly appropriate attire for class, Miss Granger."

She simply tilted her chin up a hair. The universal Gryffindor symbol for "It's not my fault" and "I can't fix it."

"Very Well," Snape said, and started to cast an ever increasing volume of disenchantment spells.

For fully five minutes, the class witnessed the Potions Master attempting to disenchant the stubborn spell.

"Alright, we'll do this the hard way," Snape said, and cast a full invisibility spell on Hermione Granger herself. "Distraction managed."

Snape glared at the entire class, as if they'd had something to do with the _waste of time_ , and said, "Get to work. You're late."

About the only good thing that Draco Malfoy could say about that class is that he was spared those strange, inexplicable pangs of familiarity. That strangely seemed focused around Potions class. Now, Draco Malfoy liked the subject, and all that, but - ineffable, inexplicable - he wanted to strangle these subtle sensations! Like spiders on the back of his neck!

As he left the Potions classroom, Draco heard Pansy tittering about how this was the closest Granger would ever get to a male's organ. _Probably true._ he thought, though he did try not to chuckle.

[a/n: Leave a review!

I don't think Draco would ever have pulled a prank like this.]


	102. Here goes nothing

[This is a repeat of last chapter, except using Hermione's perspective. Draco got... mighty distracted.]

 _Alright. Head up, Chin high_ , Hermione thought, as she tugged her eyes up from the penises on her chest. _Eyes just the least bit teary._

 _ **Gryffindor all the way.**_

Hermione briskly huffed down the hallway, stalling only a half step to wind up behind Professor Snape as he walked into the Potions Classroom.

 _I am just going to go to my seat, and pretend like this isn't happening. There's only a seat upfront - nothing to it but to go and sit down, and get to work._

 _The boys are drawing their wands. I love them, but they're idiots._

"Malfoy-" Harry growls, while Ron belts, "What did you _do_?"

Malfoy's drawling, "Was that you, Pansy dear?"

Pansy responds, "No, I thought it was you?"

 _But every other Slytherin hasn't so much as glanced at Malfoy. They're all looking at Nott, who is utterly unconcerned._

 _And Parvati can't act - but nobody's going to notice that._

 _God above, are they twitching?_ Hermione thought, her heart rate increasing from the _really_ weird sensations.

 _Snape hasn't realized anything is wrong. Ah, his usual swish and swirl, deftly precise as always._

 _Snape's eyes widened just a fraction, his chest rose, and he strode towards me. Chin up, just a hair._

Snape sneered,"That is hardly appropriate attire for class, Miss Granger."

 _Give him a glare as good as he gets, and lift that chin. Pugnacious. Jaw set, jutting out just a bit._

Snape's eyes flick away from me, and I fight back a grin, "Potter, Weasley, what have we said about wands in Potions class?" _Snape isn't even mentioning that they're pointing them at his favorite student._ By the flush of their cheeks, the boys know they're in the wrong. "That will be a months worth of detentions, and you can make that another month if you don't _put them away_."

"Very well," Snape said, and for a defeated accuser, he sounds remarkably even-keeled. _Plus, he knows that pugnacious look - and not just from Harry._

 _Everyone said that Snape wanted the DADA post, and after this day, no one would be able to say he wasn't qualified_ , Hermione thought as he started an increasingly elaborate set of dispelling charms. _I wish I could write these down..._

"Alright, we'll do this the hard way," Snape said, and cast a full invisibility spell on Hermione Granger herself. "Distraction managed."

Hermione Granger could finally, finally let herself grin. She worked as efficiently as usual, and left the classroom as soon as Snape had taken her potion.

She went upstairs to Gryffindor Tower, locked herself in her room, and didn't come out until Monday. The only words she said the entire time were, "Lavender, your spell is genius! And completely undispellable!" Lavender laughed back, her eyes sparkling.

[a/n: Hermione spent the rest of the time reading. And Lavender and Parvati brought her food.

A reviewer said that he thought it was vile, and not a prank at all. Now that you know who pulled the prank, do _you_ think so?

Leave a review!]


	103. Rotten

Hermione Granger was down in the Gryffindor Common Room well before breakfast, reading. It was actually a bit of a trial spending multiple days in a small room - even though Lavender and Parvati would leave and give her some peace and quiet.

The Gryffindor Common Room was cozy, particularly the brilliant couches - even if they were in eyebleeding crimson and gold. Other students greeted Hermione as they came down (although most of them seemed to be in such a hurry for breakfast that they didn't talk).

Lavender had sat down with Parvati a third of the way around the room from Hermione, so she wasn't surprised at all when Ron made a beeline for "Lav." Harry came tumbling down the stairs a good five minutes later, and mumbled something about his alarm when Angelina looked at his state of disarray.

He perked up when he saw Hermione, making his way over to her. "Hermione! You've recovered!" He said cheerily, sitting down with her. Hermione could almost hear Ron's part of the conversation, with him saying "Rotten luck, and over the weekend too!"

Hermione nodded, closing the book with her finger in it to save her place.

"Was it Malfoy that did it?" Harry asked.

Hermione said, "No, and not here. Come along." Hermione said, standing, and walking swiftly down Gryffindor Tower, and into a disused balcony area, that opened onto a dustcover-ridden room that looked to have rather too many chairs and tables for sitting in. And it was dusty, too, as Harry sneezed.

"How do you even know about this place?" Harry asked.

"Stumbled into it a year ago." Hermione said, "You know how the stairs are always changing?"

Harry nodded, saying, "So if it wasn't Malfoy, who was it?"

Hermione laughed, saying, "It doesn't matter," to which Harry gave a glare Hermione didn't quite understand, "It wasn't unkindly meant."

Harry crossed his arms, "Whatever." His face had gone hard, and he looked close to growling at her.

"Besides it was my idea," Hermione said primly.

"WAIT!" Harry said, in a surprising imitation of Ron Weasley, "You WANTED that to happen? WHY?"

"It was informative." Hermione said in her normal lecturing tone. "You _did_ want to know what was going on with the Slytherins, didn't you?"

Harry started talking as if out of a strangled throat, "Well, Yes, But- THAT?!"

"That." Hermione said calmly.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry said, his big green eyes trying to make her feel guilty.

Hermione was more resolute than most, and was unmoved, "You can't act your way out of a paper bag."

Harry hung his head, for just a moment, and then looked up, with a small grin on his face, "That look on Snape's face!"

Hermione gave a slow grin back, and said, "You should have seen Malfoy's!"

"Erm, I was looking at him," Harry said, looking abashed.

"Yes, but not when I first walked in the room. He looked like he was going to faint. And not out of fear - out of sheer embarrassment for the entire incident!" Hermione chuckled

"Which he wasn't involved in?" Harry said, sounding confused.

"Exactly! Who would have guessed he was such a prude!?" Hermione said, still laughing, and Harry joined in.

"So, what did you learn-" Harry asked eagerly.

"Nobody from Slytherin was looking at Malfoy. They were taking their cues from Nott." Hermione said excitedly, "That means that you were right - Malfoy's not in power anymore."

Harry contemplated, "Malfoy thought Pansy did it ..."

Hermione shook her head, "If he really thought that, wouldn't he have smirked a congratulations?"

Harry nodded slowly, and then straightened, "He was deflecting! Instead of a pure denial, he was saying _he_ didn't do it!" Harry shook his head, chagrined, "Wish I'd have thought of that... woulda helped fourth year."

Hermione shook her head, convinced that nothing would save Harry from having the rest of the school hate him. "And... there's something else." Hermione said, "The Slytherins weren't looking at Malfoy - that means that they don't believe, absent of his Slytherin position, that he'd do something like that."

Harry shook his head, absently. "Do you think that was because of the nature of the spell?"

"Honestly?" Hermione said, "I couldn't say... I didn't expect Malfoy to react so strongly to it - he was acting as if he abhorred even being in the same room as it..."

Harry smirked at Hermione, and said, "Great job! Let's grab breakfast before we're late to Transfiguration."

And they both pounded down the stairs towards the Great Hall.

[a/n: Of course Hermione doesn't _just_ do a prank (and getting that reaction from Malfoy and Snape!). It makes me smile.

Leave a review!]


	104. The Amazon

_The Amazon, who lies in the Hunter,_

 _has again cruelly felled her prey._

 _Woe betide the kinslayer -_

 _Even were it an accidental death_

 _She laughs, and laughs, and laughs._

 _I am Helen of Troy, trapped in my own mistakes._

 _Light my candle in my stead._

Draco very gingerly fed his Mother's great white owl, in an absentminded sort of way. He didn't even notice when it flew out of the Great Hall, its heavy wings ruffling his hair.

Instead, he stared at his mother's missive. It was... more detailed than he'd been expecting. Although he had to admit he wasn't at all surprised to hear Bellatrix Black had killed her cousin. From the stories he'd heard, she was a fanatic among fanatics... Even if she grieved, she wouldn't show it to _anyone_.

His mother didn't know if it had been intentional or not, Sirius' death - Bellatrix would be unreliable at best on the subject - deliberately lying to burnish her reputation at worst.

That wasn't the part that made his heart ache, though. It was his mother's description of herself. She wasn't the Face That Launched A Thousand Ships... but she was definitely regretting her marriage into the Malfoys.

 _Whatever_ was going on in Malfoy Manor...

His mother could no more leave than he could go to her.

She was doing this for him, Draco knew deep in his heart.

Draco crumpled the note into a tattered rag, trying at the same time to hide the ache in his heart.

 _I cannot save her._

[a/n: Draco, at least, knows who he can help, and who he can't. Bear in mind, if he's met Bellatrix, it was when she was in prison.

Leave a review. High times in River City coming soon.]


	105. Flash of Inspiration

Draco Malfoy shook his head, as he stepped out of the general herd's way, on his way to Arithmancy. He could hear it again, that same, bewitching tapping. It had been bothering him... since Potions...

And, just like that, Draco Malfoy felt his thoughts aligning, broken pieces of pottery that he suddenly saw the shape of, how to reassemble without magic, even.

 _Gryffindor._

 _Just like her - that Muggle..._

 _Except... maybe not a Muggle,_

 _but a muggle born.i_

Draco could see the connections, all of them - scattershot, here and there, every single thing his below-the-surface mind had been trying to scream at him from his mental depths. And they led to one person.

 _Granger_

 _I have to find her!_

Draco was off like a flash, heading past Arithmancy towards the quickest path up from the greenhouses.

 _I have to see her, now_.

Draco slid into an alcove, knowing that Granger would surely be bustling past in moments. He could hear her light tread and chuffy breath, as his breathing nearly stopped.

Three.

Two.

One.

Draco's arm reached across Granger. It grabbed her wrist, and tugged her into the alcove. Luckily, Granger was too startled - eyes wide, hands clutching her books to her chest, to go on the attack.

Draco bent his head down, and planted a firm, gentle, insistent kiss on Hermione Granger's lips. Soft, and firm, nothing yielding - pressing back against him.

After what seemed like a minute, Draco Malfoy pulled away slowly.

And Hermione Granger - getting what was probably her first look at who was accosting her - sparkled, that gleam in her eye.

Unlike every other girl he'd ever met, that meant trouble - not "I love the way you kiss."

Because Draco Malfoy recognized that look on Hermione Granger's face.

Hermione Granger had just had An Idea.

"Dray-co." She said thoughtfully, eyes daggersharp. "You're my betrothed!"

Draco Malfoy froze at the thought, looking down at her, his mind scrambling through bits and pieces of his life - tattered shreds that again fit a pattern... just one he'd missed the weaving of. Quietly, he responded at last, "Yeah, I am."

"How long have you known!?" Hermione Granger snapped, her hands holding her hips as if welded there.

"Since about five seconds after you." Draco Malfoy said, smirking.

There was a tumult of people outside the alcove, and Draco Malfoy was suddenly aware that they'd not used a single silencing spell. _Anyone_ could have heard.

Worse, this meant that class was starting, and Merlin save Malfoy if he tried to keep Granger from class. "I suppose we need to get you to class. Something tells me that even if you skip, you won't be focused enough to..." Malfoy could see that Granger had a million questions, and that her natural curiosity would impel her to stay and get them answered.

"You can't tell anyone." Draco Malfoy said urgently.

Granger's chin jutted out, as she took a step towards Malfoy - putting her breasts just millimeters from his chest. "Are you ashamed? Of me? Of yourself?"

Malfoy shook his head, covering his forehead with a hand, and said, "No! No, we need to talk, first- _please_."

Granger's fury seemed to fade as she nodded, confirming, "You won't tell anyone either?"

Malfoy nodded back, and said, "Be on time to Arithmancy. I'll be two late." He paused a tic, and then said, "Meet me here after your last class." Granger didn't bother to acknowledge the comment, but Malfoy didn't really need her to. She was too curious, too... everything not to show up. Ignoring something like this wasn't in her nature, at all.

[a/n: Ever have one of those days? When everything magically fits together? That's your unconscious working in the background.

Malfoy's not exactly is he?

Granger _had_ been thinking his name was Andre, because that's a more likelier name than Draco.

Reviews welcome!

Oh, and as to the person asking what year it is? 6th, but without horcrux hunts, so Snape's still teaching Potions.]


	106. Questions before Classes

Hermione Granger didn't hear a single word that the teachers said for the rest of the day. This includes questions to her, and requests to turn in homework assignments. Luckily, nobody hated her enough to actively prevent elbows from reaching her ribs (ow!).

So, her homework did in fact get turned in on time.

However, the lectures, the practicals - everything, including dinner- passed by in a blur.

The only thing Hermione could focus on were questions. They floated through her mind like fragments, wisps of thought that were edged with burrs*

 _Why_ had Draco Malfoy kissed her? It clearly wasn't because of their bethrothal... Why hadn't he known about their betrothal before? Who did know?

... Did Malfoy like her? Was that something like a confession, and, if so, was she expected to respond in any way?

Wasn't Malfoy with Pansy Parkinson? Like, "my fiancee" together?

If Hermione was really... bound... to someone like Malfoy, could she, would she... _tell Harry_?

 _Why_ had Draco Malfoy kissed her? She'd have expected him to be cold - his skin was blueish, almost like porcelain. It had felt... nice.

Was Malfoy still her enemy? Not talking about things, now that she'd had even a second to think, was just common sense. There were too many questions here to actually express herself to someone not involved, anyway.

If this was some sort of a strange joke, she was going to kill him.**

*like velcro, but better able to embed in your skin.

**she means the kiss. The betrothal is obviously not a joke.

[a/n: Leave a review.

My original notes on this had Draco Malfoy going off half-cocked about her deceiving him (conveniently forgetting that he was deceiving her too). Much confusion, much misunderstanding. If you wish to write an outtake of that scene, go ahead. Just msg me when you're done so I can read!]


	107. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

Draco Malfoy's mind was whirling. There were so _many_ things to think about - so many _possibilities_. He'd shoved Granger off to class, but, as he watched her, he could see that had been a mistake, just a lesser one. She was so transparent - every time she thought of a new question, she shifted in her seat - mostly straightened, and got this look in her eye that Draco thought meant "I should write this down."

Which she didn't. She had that much sense at least.

As to Draco himself? He had a lot of practice keeping his feelings hidden. And "do what you usually do" is an easy act to follow. He smirked, and executed spells, and even read an entire page of Ancient Runes in class.

That didn't mean he put the leastest bit of effort into any of that. It was all automatic.

Draco Malfoy didn't have the ghost of a plan. Instead, he had possibilities, and post-possibilities, and designs that might fit, if a pattern was to form at all... That's the problem with too little information - you wind up chasing after ghosts rather than after reality.

The only thing Draco Malfoy was relatively certain about was: _She's going to think I'm insane for kissing her._ Literally. Insane. There'd been nothing that she could recognize in their past encounters... at least Granger was likely to listen, and not instantly conclude he was hepped on some Love Potion or another.

That would be a disaster.

Ally? Lover? Friend? Wife? Draco's silver-grey eyes found Granger, and he sneered, his eyes trying - in vain - to predict outcomes that turned on things that hadn't even happened yet.

[a/n: Granger's just curious. Draco's busy trying to see the future, in vain. And too preoccupied to have seen the obvious...

Guesses on what that is? Leave it in a review!]


	108. Missing the nose in front of his face

Harry Potter was having One of Those Days. And it was all because of Hermione. He... wasn't sure what was going on with her, and that was driving him barmy.

... She wasn't _upset_.

Harry knew how to deal with an Upset Hermione, and that was usually with a drawn wand. Hexing (or threatening to, in the usual order of Ron Weasley) seemed to generally fix the situation. Harry wasn't deluded enough to think that Hermione Granger needed his wand, or anything of the sort. It was just showing he cared.

Hermione was practically _squirming_ in her seat.

Something was wriggling through her head, and he wanted to know what. _Right now,_ not after class.

Still, he had to admit, watching her was amusing. It was like she had ideas running through her head, whirling the other ones away.

Hang a jot - he knew _that_ look. That was the look of I should write this _down_.

Except - and here's the strange thing - she wasn't. Her fingers flexed, as if she would grab a quill, and then she didn't.

Okay, so whatever was worrying her like a tattered bone _wasn't_ schoolwork. Maybe wasn't something safe to leave lying around, either. Harry didn't like this, he didn't like it one bit. He wanted to pull her aside in the hallway, but... she had other classes to go to, and he didn't want to seem like he cared... _too_ much. He did, but he didn't want it to look that way.

Was she in trouble? She didn't look worried, but what sort of thing makes Hermione Granger _that_ curious, and can't be written _down_?

Weeks ago (before Lavender Brown), Harry had had a routine - sit with Hermione one day, and Ron the next. Now, no one wanted to sit near Ron, except Parvati. (Lavender, of course, was more likely to sit _on_ Ron). Harry was quite frankly surprised that Snape hadn't come swooping down to reprimand them. He probably hadn't done because he realized that the rest of the Gryffindors would clap.

"Hermione," Harry said, as he sat down - to no response. She was so busy thinking that she wasn't even paying attention. Unacceptable. Harry reached out and flicked her nose.

"Ow!" Hermione said, blinking her way back to reality. "That hurt! What was that for?"

"Just... getting your attention," Harry said, trying for a rogueish smile.

He figured it failed, when Hermione gave him a downright scaly look, and asked crossly, "Alright. What did you need me for?"

Harry mentally winced at the phrasing. She was his friend, wanting to be around her didn't mean he needed her _for_ something... Swallowing back the protest (she probably didn't mean it that way), Harry swallowed and asked, "What's going on with you? You've spent the entire day like someone spanked your arse cherry red."

For a second, Hermione looked askance at his choice of metaphor - and then she simply mouthed, " _Later_."

"What? Why?" Harry asked, now suddenly completely unsure as to what's going on.

In a more normal voice, Hermione said, "It's _complicated_. I'll explain later."

Now, Harry knew he wasn't always the most observant person ever. But even he knew that when a girl says "it's complicated" - she doesn't _really_ mean that. He spent the rest of the meal pondering it (as Hermione had returned to thinking about whatever-it-was, and staring at her was only giving him a headache).

He had just pulled a substantial piece of treacle tart onto his plate, when Hermione gathered her things, stood up, and left.

She hadn't even said goodbye.

Something was going on.

Harry Potter finished his tart, and headed up to the library. Odds were, that Hermione just needed to doublecheck something...

...

Except

...

Hermione _wasn't_ at the library.

That, in of itself, of course wasn't that unusual. However, a nettled Hermione _not_ at the library? That was... almost inconceivable.

 _The Map_.

[a/n: And we now interrupt your regularly scheduled Pottering for "What Granger and Malfoy are doing."

Do leave a review. Harry drives himself crazy with possibilities when he can't get answers.

And yes, Malfoy and Hermione were both too busy with their gazes turned inward to notice Harry Potter going practically out of his mind.

Harry, for his own part, is lucky he didn't have Potions. Snape's vindictive enough to assign detentions if Potter's _normally_ not paying attention.]


	109. Off the rails

Draco Malfoy got up from dinner first, leaving with that elegant stroll that his father had perfected. Years of training in looking and seeming just like his father had laid a primrose path for him, and he stuck to it, confident that no one would notice a _damn thing_ while he was acting so usual.

He registered, out of the corner of his eye, Hermione Granger springing to her feet, and then grinding her teeth as she slowed herself to an amble - a gait that was significantly out of character for her. Gryffindors were like that, though? Never thinking outside the box. Draco would have told her (had he been consulted), that she should simply leave after he had vanished from the Great Hall. Then she could use her normal gait, that sort of bustling "I've got bigger things to do than you do" arrogant walk she had perfected - not out of any sense of purpose, but sheer lack of it. That gait had a truth in it that Draco's never did. Not when he ran, not when he ambled, not when he strutted.

Still, Draco Malfoy _needed_ to get the first word in. So, at first opportunity, he took the long way to the alcove they'd been in earlier. He knew that Granger, with her congential impatience, would head there directly. And there she'd sit, wondering if he wasn't coming, wondering... well, a lot of things. He wasn't sure the exact content of her thoughts (he didn't read minds, after all, just expressions), but he knew that she'd be fairly full of questions, and not willing to leave the room to find him.

Two minutes after Granger had entered the room, Draco Malfoy entered, slipping smoothly inside. "I just wanted to say I'm not crazy, Granger." He said, before he was actually in the room, practically.

Hermione Granger looked at him, her entire motion arrested by the oddball comment. She nodded absentmindedly, and drew her wand. Draco held his breath a moment (despite knowing that she'd hardly _murder_ him, she was the type that'd want answers _first_ ).

She began casting a wall of secrecy spells, to which Draco hastily added his own, some taken from his father (or godfather), and some simply tweaked versions of the textbook spells. He laid his behind hers, forming a second, more potent layer, in case the first failed to dissuade.

[a/n: Feel free to start guessing about the spells! As there's a Potter around, you can expect them to come up.

Leave a review!

And yes, Malfoy does overthink things. Chapter title is a preview of upcoming events.]


	110. Continue

"Continue," Hermione Granger said, her bold brown eyes staring straight into his. Malfoy's mouth gave a slight twitch without him really bidding it to. He was simultaneously embarrassed that he'd actually been in so great a hurry as to forget the Obviously Necessary, and appreciating the steel he felt behind her words. Draco Malfoy liked a woman with steel in her spine.

"There's no easy way to say this," Draco Malfoy said, consciously setting aside that Queen's English accent as he spoke, letting his real accent pour through. "We met in London this summer."

Hermione's eyes opened wide, "What were you doing in London this summer?"

Draco responded, soft as silk, "I _told_ you, of course. And then... we _did_ things... you know... _things_." Draco Malfoy's face had decided, entirely on its own, to go completely scarlet. Draco tried to will the blood back, as blushing was... not terribly manly, now was it?

Hermione, at least, wasn't fainting. Her hand had, however, gone to her mouth, as she whisper-shrieked, "That was you?! I thought you were from halfway across the world - the Caucausus Mountains!"

Draco Malfoy shrugged, half-smirking, "Seems more likely than meeting Pureblood Malfoy in a Muggle pub in the middle of London, don't it?"

Hermione grinned slightly, and then stomped her foot. "So that was why you kissed me!"

Draco Malfoy put his hands behind his back, looking upwards - more than a bit embarrassed at having succumbed to impulse. "Yeah, I'd just figured it out, you know - I thought I'd never see you again."

Hermione said, "Me too."

Draco Malfoy laughed a deep belly laugh, at last saying, "But you were the one who left without even telling me your name!"

"Not to mention you didn't know my face, either." Hermione said, hiding her face in her hands as she laughed.

"Had I thought of disguise, I might have guessed," Malfoy said, studiously studying a bit of the wall behind Hermione.

"What?! WHY?!" Hermione fiercely demanded.

"People tend to modify what they don't like about themselves..." Malfoy said, "And I've lost track of how many times I've commented about your hair."

"Does that mean you don't like looking like a porcelain doll?" Hermione shot back.

"Insults hurt. You thought I didn't care you called me an albino?" Malfoy responded, his steel showing even as he kept his voice low. He smirked suddenly, responding to the unasked question, "I do like being a blond. It's distinctive."

Suddenly, there was someone blocking the light heading into the alcove.

Harry Potter.

 _Shite_

[a/n: Hermione might have known Harry was coming - Draco did NOT. To be fair, Harry didn't just run over, they've been about thirty minutes. And, being Harry, he's spent thirty minutes coming up with increasingly unlikier "why is this happening?"

Snape, for the record, is a trained spy. His disguises do not reflect personal insecurities. Please tell me you weren't thinking this!]


	111. An old and familiar rage

Draco Malfoy felt an old and familiar rage rise as he stared into Harry Potter's green eyes. Surprisingly, it was mixed with a bit of chagrin. He ought to have known Potter was coming, after all.

Potter didn't give either of them time to speak, simply barging directly into the alcove, carrying not a whit for the privacy spells (including the one that was slowly turning him pink. Draco decided that if Potter was staying more than two minutes, he'd uncast that one. Nobody looked good with their skin et off by acid).

"Malfoy, what did I say to you when we first met?" Harry demanded. _Really? That's what you choose?_

"Absolutely nothing. Frankly, I was afraid you were mute." Draco Malfoy drawled, falling back on disdain as if it were a potions habit.

Harry Potter's lips crinkled up, and he responded, "And yet you still wanted to be my friend so badly?"

"It was either you, lickspittles, or Nott." Draco Malfoy said, surprising himself with his honesty. "And Nott doesn't _talk_." _It was true, if more because the studious boy liked to scheme in the shadows._

"I take your point," Harry said, before turning to Hermione, "Sunshine, daisies, mellow yellow-"

Hermione grinned and responded continuing the singsong, "Turn this stupid fat rat yellow."

... and then the fireworks began...

First, Hermione tackled Harry, pulling him into a headlock, and, her teeth grit, she demanded, "Why did you question Malfoy first?"

"Figured you were more likely to Imperius him _and_ stay in an easily findable location." Harry Potter said, neatly demonstrating more intelligence than I normally gave the entirety of Gryffindor (save Granger) credit for.

"Your caring leaves me touched, Potter." Draco Malfoy said, faking a sudden upswelling of comity.

Potter snorted, and said, "Touched in the head, you mean. Yeah, it's you alright."

Hermione looked at Harry, having belatedly released him from the headlock, "Harry? _Later_."

Harry Potter said, "Yeah, yeah, just fill me in." And left, giving them both his back without any concern for either of them hexing it. Occasionally Gryffindors were just stupid bold. Or maybe he just trusted Granger not to let me...

[a/n: Harry had had about a million "unfortunate events" rolling through his mind. Most of them involved someone getting kidnapped.

Hence why he's not acting completely crazy. He's going back to keep watching them on the map - he's not that trusting.

Leave a review!]


	112. Recovering First

Hermione recovered first, saying, "Well, that was perfectly and patently ridiculous."

Malfoy nodded, saying, "I thought he might try to kill me."

Hermione laughed, and said, "Harry? He might have tried for both of us!"

Malfoy chuckled, though the subject was in no way funny.

Hermione archly drawled, in a flawless "Malfoy" impression, "He _claims_ he wants to be an Auror. I _claim_ he's training to be a busybody."

"Oh, you," Draco said, pulling her into his arms and smothering her with a firmly gentle kiss.

Hermione recovered from his ministrations eventually, and she looked into his eyes, as she totalled what she knew. "So, we met in Muggle London, commenced sexual congress, and I did in fact not get pregnant." Draco turned amusingly pink at that bald statement, and Hermione continued, "And we're engaged, have been since we were too young to remember."

Draco Malfoy nodded, watching a complex set of emotions playing over her face. Finally, she took in a deep breath and just said it, "So why does Pansy Parkinson keep insisting she's engaged to you?"

Draco knew, he just knew that wasn't the question Hermione was asking. She was really asking _Who am I to you?_

And that was going to be harder to answer.

[a/n: second post today. Leaving reviews gets you more chapters.]


	113. A friend

"Because I asked her to." Draco Malfoy replied, honestly surprised at how honest he was being. "I went to Hogwarts _not knowing_ who I was engaged to. That's like putting a pregnant cow in front of vampire bats."

"Someone would be after... your blood?" Hermione asked, blaunching a little at the description.

"Close. Everyone I meet, it sometimes seems, sees me for my money." Draco Malfoy paused, "If that wasn't the case, my father would be a man of ill repute, given what skullduggery he was up to in the war, Imperius or no."

"And...?"

"Girls would be fighting over me. Even _engaged_ girls. Eligible bachelor, Gold beyond your Dreams, Not Entirely Stupid, and Not Entirely Ugly." Draco Malfoy said, his eyes hollow, "I _pleaded_ with Pansy to be my fake betrothed."

"Does... does she have someone?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, down in France. He knows all about the scheme too - wouldn't have started it without that, really. That would be entirely too hot of a conflagration."

"So... you... haven't actually, done joint congress with her?" Hermione's face was getting beet red.

"Picturing it, are you?" Draco Malfoy purred, "No, not in the slightest. One kiss, per protocol, at the Yule ball."

"Then... then why were you... on the train?!" Hermione said, looking incredulous.

"Pansy had been on me - literally, sitting on me - the entire summer because I wouldn't. Couldn't. talk about that night." Draco Malfoy said, a knife sharp grin slicing over his face, "The Express was the first chance for privacy we got. She wanted the entire story, and _wasn't_ going to wait."

"So, why did you lie to me?" Hermione asked, and Draco was struck by how little she seemed upset.

Draco attempted to look penitent, but he rather thought he looked like an only slightly guilty child. "Perfect opportunity to pull the Gryffindor prude's leg, innit?"

"I did believe you." Hermione said.

Hermione took a breath and continued, "So, you haven't... not with anyone else?"

"No, not even kissing. Pansy saved me from being tackled by as many girls as had high enough opinions of their "charms" to think that inflicting them unasked would cause me to fall in love with them."

Hermione giggled at the picture. "Draco Malfoy, getting groped and manhandled, by his entire Slytherin class!"

"Worse," Draco said, managing to sound doleful, "All of Ravenclaw and most of Hufflepuff too!"

[a/n: Yes, Pansy has been being helpful. Even while not speaking to Draco for months on end.

Leave a review!?]


	114. Well, it was important!

Draco Malfoy had had many questions running through his head, and, as usual, they came out in jumbled order, "So, I've got to ask - **_why_** Ron Weasley?"

Hermione's face, that had been smiling, got very quiet, solemn, almost. She looked at Draco, and he saw anger begin to unfold in her eyes. Mentally, he prepared to retreat.

"Nobody told me I was engaged." Hermione said, the fiery look in her eye like oil on water, as a spark hits the top.

"You... you didn't know?" Draco Malfoy asked, honestly confused.

"My parents said... there was a bit of a mixup." Hermione said, looking less sure of herself as her knowledge turned tenuous in her hands.

"Then how did you manage to find out about it?" Draco Malfoy demanded, his voice unable to mollify itself back to merely asked.

"Um, er, this summer, someone who knew about it, mentioned it..." Hermione said, her hands fidgeting behind her back, clasping and unclasping.

"Now that's remarkably vague." Draco Malfoy said. "Why so secret?"

Hermione shot him a look, inchoate and frustrated at the same time.

[a/n: Of course Hermione isn't going to mention Snape by name. He's supposed to be a Death Eater.

Leave a review].


	115. Not Important

Draco Malfoy could almost see Granger steeling herself. Cancel that, he really could see it, her spine straightening - and part of his stomach twisted, unsure what she wanted to talk about, but sure that it wouldn't be pleasant. Not in the slightest.

Oddly, she said simply, "Ronald Weasley isn't terribly important. I'll explain, but we'd better get some other things straight while we can."

"Potter-" Malfoy said, and Hermione nodded firmly.

"If he's coming back," Malfoy said, giving her a sidelong grin, "Why don't we give him something to stare at?"

Hermione thought that rogueish grin on Malfoy's face was starting to grow on her, which was moderately disturbing, as it tended to come with Bad Ideas.

Still...

What was the harm?

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Harry Potter had been pacing in the dusty old classroom, the Map on the table, as he glared, repeatedly, at the alcove where Malfoy and Hermione were. What were they doing? Were they safe? Were they going to destroy all of ruddy England? Were they fighting each other - or worse, just bleeding from the pain?

Harry'd thought his thousand and one ideas would shrink to several, if only he headed over and confirmed that they were still of sound mind and body. It hadn't worked. Harry's mind had cranked into overdrive, and come up with thousands more, each one more convoluted than the last. His head was throbbing, and he knew he shouldn't be headed over there... Knew he'd promised to wait...

His feet took him over there anyway, almost without his by-your-leave.

He stepped partially into the alcove, only to see a darkhaired beauty deeply kissing a sandy-haired young man in Hogwarts robes. "Excuse me," Harry said, blushing and beating a hasty retreat.

He'd gotten about fifteen steps away, when he'd realized - the map had said they were there. Disguise charms were cheap.

Immediately, he whirled around, and started heading back.

It took him ten steps to remember where he'd seen that particular beauty before - that had been the...

 **Exact**

guise that Hermione had worn heading into Muggle London.

Harry froze, thinking. He'd sworn that the bloke kissing her looked ... just the way she'd described that bloke in Muggle London.

Hermione _wouldn't_ joke about something like that.

Abruptly, Harry Potter's feet carried him at a flat out run directly back to the alcove, and Harry didn't mind in the slightest that his already pinked skin was turning the color of PeptoBismol.

" _Malfoy? Really_?" He said, as he nearly crashed into both of them.*

Stepping back from that kiss, Malfoy -and Harry could catch a few mannerisms, now, drawled in a voice that Harry _didn't_ recognize, "Potter, Really? Is faceplanting a hobby of yours?"

Hermione giggled, looking at the both of them, and said primly**, "A picture is worth a thousand words."

"Hermione, what's your favorite book?" Harry demanded suddenly.

"Harry, you know I hate it when you ask that question..." Hermione said, looking like she might throttle him.

" _Fine_ , what's your favorite book _today_?" Harry asked obediently.

"The Prince and the Pauper," Hermione said stoutly.

"Appropriate," Harry responded, looking at Malfoy, "Have you ever been in love?"

"Unlike you, apparently, yes. I love my mother, as do most children. Anything more than that is none of your business" Draco Malfoy drawled in that odd accent that Harry had a hard time even deciphering.

Malfoy crossed his arms, "What's with asking questions you don't know the answer to?" he said, looking directly at Harry Potter. Harry thought Malfoy really looked weird with crystal blue eyes, very strange.

"Just checking that you haven't Imperioed each other." Harry said, grinning.

"How can you do that if you don't know the answer?" Hermione said, her hands on her hips.

"I don't need to know the answer. I just need to know if it's you responding. Malfoy'd never have responded like _that_ \- and Hermione, if I'd asked you if Malfoy had ever been in love, you'd have stammered before answering." Harry's grin had bird feathers on the edges.

"Clever," Malfoy said, and Harry could tell that the Slytherin was rather unwillingly impressed.

"I'd better be taking my leave, before this dratted spell of yours, Malfoy - will it turn me _fuscia_?" Harry Potter said, looking down at his steadily en=pinkening body.

"Nobody's ever let it get that far." Malfoy drawled, and Potter ran out of the room.

*Running five steps at a flat out run is a recipe for disaster. Not-thinking is a Potter Trait, at least according to Snape, and he'd know.

**Current Form lends itself better to primness.

[a/n: Well, at least they gave Potter some explanation. He'll have come up with another ten thousand ideas before they're done talking with each other.

Leave a review!]


	116. I escaped

"Okay, now that Potter's been quelled -" Hermione started in, letting her guise drop.

"Temporarily..." Malfoy chimed in, letting the word lie.

"You and I talked of many thins, over the summer," Hermione said firmly.

"We did," Draco Malfoy said, fighting to sound natural with the sudden dryness of his throat.

"Our masks are off now, let's try again." Hermione said firmly, and Draco - with a start - dropped his own guise, resuming his silver-eyed, platinum haired countenance.

"I escaped." Draco Malfoy said, "Fled may be the better term, really." He paused, frowning a bit, "I didn't know what I was fleeing from - still don't know the whole of it, really." Hermione, though her eyes swirled with questions, simply sat and listened. Draco found himself liking that facts first approach. "My parents risked everything to shield me from the Dark Lord." Draco paused, and then said, "They weren't the only ones."

"I wasn't there, I can't tell you if I'd have been a hostage, or merely a victim." Draco Malfoy said, tilting his head up, "But, somehow, my parents knew they couldn't afford to keep me there."

"If your parents are bound to do as He says, why would a hostage matter?" Hermione Granger asked.

"All sorts of reasons, Granger," Draco said mildly, "I could be punished for my father's failings, or just used as leverage in negotiations below the level of the Dark Lord himself."

Hermione nodded grimly, "you should be glad that you weren't forced into the company of Bellatrix Lestrange, formerly Black."

Draco nodded, quietly relieved that Hermione was listening it had been ridiculous to think that she wouldn't, really, she'd listen and then stick in her heels if she needed to, but still...


	117. Are you mad

Hermione looked at Draco, and asked, quietly and a bit slowly (tact Malfoy wouldn't have expected from a Gryffndor), "Are you mad that your parents lied to you?"

Draco looked at her, frowned, looked down, and then his eyes lifted to hers again. "Not as such. It was politics, and stretching and bending the truth is expected in politics. I just wish they'd trusted me enough to let me in on the truth. Can you imagine letting your son delude himself about something truly dangerous?" Draco took a shaky breath, "They saved me, I don't have any right to be mad at them."

"But you are."

"Unfortunately, yes." Draco sighed, "It's not even the lack of trust, not really. It's the lack of time to prepare."

Hermione looked at him, a question that didn't need to be asked on her face. Maybe that's what caring looked like.

"I feel like I've been dropped in the deep end - like we all have, really." Draco Malfoy said, stopped, and sighed.

"You realize I can't go out in public?" Draco said, covering his eyes with his hands for a moment.

"You're worried..." Hermione started.

Draco shook his head, "No, I'm terrified. If I was seen in public, there's a good chance I'd be kidnapped. If not, my parents would pay for my indiscretion."

"Was that why you were out in Muggle London? Because people wouldn't see you?"

"Among other things, yes." Draco Malfoy said, "I'm not sure what we'll do after this year."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"My parents paid a price to get me out..." Draco Malfoy said, "What do you think their orders are going to be after Fortress Hogwarts lets out?"

"To take you home..." Hermione breathed.

"Yeah, and It's not like I can say that i wasn't here. He's got a few true loyalists here."

"What are you-" Hermione started, then paused, "What are we going to do?"

"I'm unsure. I need help, and we need to think this through."

"How many of you are there?" Hermione asked.

"Most of Slytherin. which shouldn't surprise, as my House doesn't generally like to take sides. More than you'd expect out of Ravenclaw." Draco said, pondering.

[a/n: This would be a far different story if Draco was the only one his parents rescued. Leave a review?]


	118. Time to split

Draco frowned, suddenly, casting a quick Tempus charm. "I need to leave, _now_." Hermione thought it almost looked like his entire demeanor had changed. Gone was the relaxed, confidence - and in its place was a quick nervousness, that she was startled to realize she recognized on Draco Malfoy's face. Hermione nodded.

"I wish I could stay..." Draco said urgently and wistfully, cupping Hermione's face with his hand. "We'll talk tomorrow." Draco Malfoy said, before bolting out of the suddenly cramped alcove.

Hermione, heading out of the alcove, was frowning, and not watching where she was going. How was he going to talk with her tomorrow when they hadn't arranged where to meet? She nearly plowed into Harry Potter, who was standing with crossed arms.

"Tell me everything." he demanded, green eyes as brightly intent as the killing curse.

Hermione just nodded, knowing that anything else was really not an option. "Where?"

"The Room, of course," Harry said, heading up the tricksy stairs that were the closest to that alcove. It was a sign of his patently obvious impatience.

/

Malfoy slid through the halls, as if he was really greased lightning. He arrived down in the dungeons, only slowing as he was two corridors away from the Common Room. There he stopped, straightened his clothes, and walked into the place like he owned it.

Eyes everywhere stopped what they were doing and looked up at him. Most went back to their work, as the name Malfoy didn't command as much attention as it used to. Goyle, however, frowned at him. And Pansy- Pansy was on her feet, and in three swift strides, she was grabbing onto his arm.

"Your room, now, sugar." She purred, and Draco caught the insistent demand in her eyes, the one that said you are NOT getting out of this.

[a/n: Pansy's POV would be noting that Draco looks happier than he's looked all year. Do leave a review?]


	119. Probably for the best

Pansy's grip on Draco's arm _hurt_ to the nine hells, so he walked as quickly as he could - nearly dragging her into his room. He closed the door, and Pansy rounded on him. "What happened to you?" She demanded.

Draco Malfoy paused, honestly collecting his thoughts. So many things had happened today... it was almost impossible to know where to _start_.

"Draco Abraxas Malfoy!" Pansy shrieked, in that shrill tone that made his ears ring, "You'll tell me _now_ or so help me you'll regret it!"

Some things never change. Pansy Parkinson was the single most impatient person Draco Malfoy had ever met - bar none. Granger at least could hold her tongue when someone was dangling answers in front of her.

Draco nodded, "Of course, Pansy," he said somberly, and began to cast privacy spells. Up to this point, anything that someone might have eavesdropped was just run of the mill behavior for both of them. As were the privacy spells, truthfully. If Draco Malfoy lingered a little on the spells, just to aggravate Pansy a little more, well...

" _She_ 's **_here_** " Draco Malfoy said, "at Hogwarts, I mean."

Pansy's blue eyes got big as saucers, as she asked, "She is? Who? Tell me she's not Romilda Vane... and don't even try to tell me it's Cho Chang."

Draco smirked, "Hermione Granger."

Pansy's eyes seemed to attempt to bulge out of her head - "But she's... not _anything_ like you described..."

"Apparently even Gryffindors have masks," Draco Malfoy said, "And glamours aren't that difficult."

"Would have figured that bitch'd be too proud to use one, honestly," Pansy said with a bit of a sniff. Draco didn't take the slur as an insult, as that was just Pansy being Pansy. She didn't mean any harm by it, so why take offense?

Draco frowned, pensively, "Me too..."

Pansy twisted a lock of her hair, saying shrewdly, "Other than that, when you think about it, it makes a good deal of sense. Who else would you know in a Muggle Bar in the middle of London?"

In an eyeblink, Pansy was in Draco Malfoy's arms, giving him a full (nearly-tackle) hug. "I'm so happy for you! I knew there was something different about you, from the moment you stepped into the Common Room!"

Draco relaxed into the hug for a moment, before saying, quietly, "I guess this is what happiness looks like."

"Oh, Draco!" Pansy said, rubbing her head on his shoulder - just like a cat, before pulling away.

"There's... there's more." Draco said, a bit more hesitation in his tone.

Pansy sat there calmly, her gaze reflecting his like a cat who wouldn't blink.

"I discovered who I'm engaged to, today." Draco Malfoy said.

Pansy's look turned expectant, the cat who knows she'll be getting cream. And will slash your hamstring if you don't, so do it quick

"Hermione Granger." Draco Malfoy said, "I'm engaged to Hermione Granger." The words came out dry, like a man who hadn't had a drink of water and had just crossed the Mojave.

Pansy's mouth dropped open, and worked silently for a moment or two. It was amazing to see, honestly. Pansy prided herself on her decorum, and letting her jaw drop like that was the height of looking like a fool.

"Your parents couldn't have - wouldn't have - to a Mu-Muggleborn?" Pansy said.

Draco smirked, looking more like a cat than Pansy did, "Who said they had anything to do with it?"

Pansy tried to say something, but it was as if the words caught in her throat. Several times, in fact. "I'd have believed that one, if you were Goyle, or especially Weasley. But Draco Malfoy?" Pansy dissolved in giggles.

"I'm not joking, Pans," Draco said softly.

"Oh, I know." Pansy said, her mirth disappearing like mist in noontime sun. "It's still the wildest tale I've heard in this place, and that includes the one about Hagrid's Dragon."

They exchanged smiles, remembering what it'd been like to be that young, that innocent - and that particular version of helpful that is quintessentially Slytherin.

"Figured something else out, too, today." Draco Malfoy said, putting his hands in his pockets and trying to look a little nonchalant. "Looks like Potter really does have a brain, even if he's often liable to forget that fact."

"Not surprising, given who he's friends with." Pansy said, and as she saw Draco start to stiffen, she hurriedly continued, "Weasley, I meant Weasley."

Draco nodded, looking contemplative, and then said, "I think you have the right of it. Weasley gets upset when anyone does better than him at anything, and he's not exactly Mr. Smart Guy."

Pansy just looked smug.

Draco Malfoy said, quietly, "This next bit doesn't clear this room, no matter what happens. The rest? You could gossip about, and I'd just send you to eternal sleep. It's just a matter of reputation, after all. "

Pansy had stilled, looking at him quietly.

"If you breathe a word of this, outside these wards, I'll make you scream for death. Lives depend on it. Houses too." Draco Malfoy said, and because he said it, it was true. Both he and Pansy were ages beyond making threats that they wouldn't follow through on. And Draco wouldn't have breathed a word of any of this if Pansy was a malicious gossip. (Oh, sure, she did like gossip, but her tall tales were so wild and crazy that no one truly believed a single one.)

"I think... I think there might be some hope for us, after all." Draco Malfoy said, his eyes sparkling like quicksilver.

[a/n: I love Pansy. Leave a review? What do you think Draco is talking about? ... reupdating chapter as ff is bork.]


	120. Stuck

They wound up stuck on those stairs two times before they actually got to the room.

Hermione entered first, and then Harry came in on her heels. She turned around, directly into a hug from Harry. Reflexively, she wrapped her hands around his shoulders, and, to her great wonder, she felt him shaking. "Harry..." she said softly. He buried his face in her shoulder, taking deep, slow breaths.

Finally he looked up, and whispered, very very quietly, "I was so worried..." his green eyes sparkled as if they were ready to shed tears. Hermione'd never seen him cry, not really. So it probably wasn't that.

All of Hermione's anger and upset at him busting in - _repeatedly_ , seemed to drain out through her feet. Hermione laughed brokenly, and said, "I know, Harry, I know... I'd have gone bonkers if I'd seen you and Malfoy together on the Map, and you know that straight duckit."

Harry couldn't help but laugh ruefully at Hermione's honest words, "Yeah, but you'd have had reason to -" He said, choking back any brokenness in his voice by force of will alone. He'd been far too many places where your feelings got you hurt more.

"Harry James Potter, just how many "reasonable explanations" did you come up with before busting in on us?" Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Um, a thousand and thirteen," Harry said, "but I came up with the last ten on the way over..."

"And of those, exactly how many excluded torture, murder and rape?"

Harry looked down at his feet, "Um... there were about a dozen where it hadn't happened yet."

Hermione Granger threw her arms around Harry again, and said, "Oh, Harry! You're nuts, completely and totally bonkers, but you're still a good friend."

She pushed him out to arms length, giving him a steely look, "And how many more before you came back the second time?"

"Five thousand and eight. Fewer of those about anything truly evil, though. I just started to imagine you and Malfoy _working together_." Hermione could feel Harry's shudder through her fingertips.

Hermione ruefully shook her head at him, chuckling at his silliness.

He looked at her with those big, bespectacled eyes of his, and asked, earnestly, "What's going on?"

Hermione dropped her hands off his shoulders, to wring them together, instead. "I told you what happened this summer, when I went into Muggle London."

Harry nodded, looking that particular breed of earnest that meant Harry'd turned his thinking cap off and was _just_ going to listen. (Rather than Scream, Carp, or Cavil about everything that was said).

[a/n: Harry got Issues, dude. Tommy Boy hasn't helped.

Leave a review?

If you missed the last chapter, it's ff's fault. look at it again.]


	121. It was him

"That was him." Hermione Granger said, and even though she knew Harry'd figured it out before, his eyes still widened, nearly comically.

"So," Harry said, with a grin, "The Great Hermione Granger is Finally Wrong!" Hermione hit him upside the head (gently) before he continued. "That Caucasian lover turns out to be none other than Draco Malfoy."

"It was an _easy_ mistake to make!" Hermione said snottily.*

"Oh, no doubt." Harry said, trying to look serious, before grinning, "Who'd have guessed that, one midsummer's day, you could find Draco Malfoy in a Muggle pub in the Middle of London?"

"Exactly!" Hermione said, clapping her hands together.

Suddenly, Harry got this funny, displeased look on his face, and Hermione asked, "Harry, is something wrong?"

"I just realized - you two slept together!" Harry said, his eyes wide, "Can...Can you get me some brain bleach?"

"Harry!" Hermione said, slapping him on the shoulder, and saying, "You know it doesn't work that way. Once you see it, you can't unsee it."

"Not even with magic?" Harry said pleadingly.

"Not if you want to remember anything at all of this entire year." Hermione said gravely.

She paused for a moment to let it sink in.

Then Hermione continued, "There's more, because of course this has to be complicated."

Harry Potter blinked, and asked, dumbfounded, "It wasn't already?"

Hermione gave Harry a hug, saying, "Oh, harry!" And, in the midst of the hug, with her itchy hair all in Harry's nose, she said, into his ear, "I'm also engaged to him."

Harry grabbed her by her shoulders, pushing her gently back to arms length, and looked her over, "You're what?" Harry started laughing - a broken, wild sort of laugh that seemed to move through him, rather than originating from him. Just as suddenly as he started laughing, he stopped, "Tell me he didn't know."

Hermione actually braced herself, against the flinty anger in Harry's green eyes - that was more of a promise of violence than anything else. "He didn't know."

Harry started to laugh, and continued as he spoke, "Oh, gods! This is just too rich... He actually didn't know..." Harry had laughed to the point of tears dripping down his face.

Hermione said thoughtfully, "I was supposed to know, at least, that I was engaged... Now I'm just starting to wonder who knew what, and when..." Harry's green eyes looked at her, for the moment still and inquisitive.

[a/n: Harry's not crazy. Well, not round the bend crazy, at least. Leave a review!]

*Hermione hates being wrong. Much like I do.


	122. Secrets in Slytherin

Draco Malfoy was seething, quietly, on the inside. It was Saturday, and he'd had to make an appearance as captain of the Quiddich team. Then he'd been required to be seen doing homework (as usual), and talking with Pansy, who was being her normal venomous self, casting spiteful aspersions towards any chit that dared even glance at him.

What Draco Malfoy wanted to do was be with Hermione Granger. Preferably embracing her, and perhaps, perhaps a bit more. But this was House Slytherin, and having secrets there was a weakness to begin with. He couldn't afford for people to know, even of a cold and thoughtfree engagement to a Mudblood. Actual feelings were like coating himself in blood in front of a ravenous werewolf.

No.

Hermione Granger had been staring at him at breakfast, for a good thirty seconds, before Potter intervened. And who'd have expected _that_? Draco Malfoy was used to seeing Potter as just as clueless as Ron Weasley. But - he had, after all, figured out what Draco and Granger's embrace had meant. That spoke better of him than Draco Malfoy was used to giving him credit for.

Pansy Parkinson was quick to cover for Granger, for which Malfoy would be eternally thankful. Her spiteful comment about the Mudblood desiring to sully his britches had the rest of the table in stiches (except for Nott, but he rarely laughed except at someone's screams, so that wasn't a sign of trouble). Nobody took Pansy Parkinson super seriously when she was "Marking her territory" around Draco Malfoy. Everyone knew that she was just as serious as you made her be - if you were deranged enough to actually make a play for Malfoy, she'd make you regret it. But all the passive aggressive bitchery was just signposting that, not an actual attack at all. It was "watch yourself" made spitely and manifestly plain to all and sundry. Even to Gryffindors who couldn't possibly have overheard her.

It was a bold move - more bold than was generally the done thing in Slytherin, but most children weren't introspective about anyone but themselves, so it mostly was simply an accepted feature of House Slytherin. Even in disgrace, Pansy's support meant that girls knew enough not to move in on him.

Of course, this made an affair with Granger - a relationship - even more prone to starting a gossipy conflagration than usual. Any Slytherin would run to tell Pansy, crafting their own cruel humor to see exactly how much they could pique and stoke her anger.

It was nearly to dinner before Draco Malfoy had had a thought. Remember those pins he'd made... what seemed years ago, to poke at Potter? Frowning, he started drawing up simple plans.

[a/n: And this is why I didn't write yesterday. They're spending the weekend apart, mostly because of Draco. Nobody cares where Hermione Granger is, really, except Harry, and Harry knows. Leave a review?]


	123. Here you go

Harry Potter had the strangest look on his face, the next morning at breakfast (which, Hermione had to admit, it was a miracle he was up for). "Here you go, Hermione," he said casually, as he dropped a small hankerchief with a celtic knot on it in front of her. Hermione's heart felt like it stopped, as she had to physically prevent herself from glancing up at Malfoy. "Where'd you get this?" Hermione whispered.

"Snub-nosed pug," Potter said, speaking in code even though nobody was sitting nearby. Hermione smirked, and swatted at him. "As I can't imagine why she'd be giving me this... and since everyone knows when I don't understand something, you're the _first_ person I go to..." Harry batted his eyelashes, and Hermione laughed at him, giving him a warm hug.

"Thank you," Hermione said, knowing that Draco Malfoy's eyes were sure to be on her. Unlike Hermione Granger, he had a reputation of staring at Harry Potter nee Scarhead. She hoped he'd take the displaced hug well, and wasn't looking jealous. Jealousy never looked good on blondes.

Hermione ate quickly before heading off to the library. Harry tagged along, at least halfway, teasing her about not knowing what it meant. She looked around, checking to make sure that no one was looking, and then said, "That's part of the fun!"

Harry laughed, his head tilted up towards the sky, and then sobered, looking fondly at Hermione, saying, "Only you, Hermione, only you."

[a/n: Draco was driving himself up a wall because he was unable to see Hermione. Guesses as to what a Celtic knot means?

Leave a review!]


	124. Forever

It had taken until Monday before Draco Malfoy could even so much as catch a private glimpse (okay, not that sort of private) of Hermione Granger. "Tommorrow, an hour before your rounds," He'd hissed at her, as he "accidentally" shoved past her. As his mate Zambini clapped a congratulatory hand on his shoulder, Draco saw that Hermione had wide eyes. _Good, she'd heard._

/

Tuesday! It was Tuesday! Hermione rose with the dawn, despite knowing that was going to make the waiting longer. It was alright, she thought, so long as she didn't miss him - tonight. She'd certainly miss him enough the whole day. And that celtic knot! That had to be the most awesomest gift she'd ever been given - and her gifts weren't always Weasley sweaters, thank you very much! At that thought, she frowned. Had she been expected to give a thank you gift to Boot in third year? She'd just sent a thank you letter...

/

Draco Malfoy woke uncharacteristically late on Tuesday, wanting a bit of a lie in as he thought, anticipated really, what was coming later tonight.

/

They met with a kiss, and Draco Malfoy did not take long to insist that he'd rather they spend the entire time kissing... and other things. From the blush on her cheeks, Hermione felt the same way.

Eventually (about twenty minutes of snogging later, by which time they were thoroughly mussed in a way that would be counted as Properly Indecent if a prefect were to see them), they pulled apart to _breathe_.

"We do need to talk." They said, together. And blushed, together.

"How did you even manage to find out about the engagement, anyway?" Draco Malfoy asked, a question that had been turning over in his head for simply ages now.

Hermione stopped, blinked, and then looked at him. "I had gotten into another fight with Ronald Weasley. You needn't worry that our engagement got in the way of that relationship - although it did." By this point, Draco was smirking and Hermione had her hands balled up into fists, "Because I do realize that it wouldn't have worked out, long term."

"Anyway," Hermione said stiffly, "All the shouting had woken up the adults in the house, and Snape told me that I could do better than Ron Weasley..."

Malfoy smirked, said smugly, "Yeah, that does sound like ol' Snape..."

"And then," Hermione said softly, "He said I already had."

"Wait -" Draco's eyes seemed to be seeing if they could turn black, his pupils had gotten so wide. "Snape knew-?" Draco looked even more baffled, as he ran past everything they'd said in the past two minutes, "What were you doing in a house with Ronald Weasley _and_ Severus Snape?"

Hermione had, quite belatedly, put her hand over her mouth. It seemed Draco had just realized the same thing that Hermione did. "At the bar-" Hermione whispered.

"That was _Snape_." Draco Malfoy said, in a coldly cruel voice. He smiled, that dashing roguish grin, and looked at Hermione, "You take the Slytherin way this time. I'll handle the _Gryffindor_." And Draco Malfoy was out dashing like a bullet, or a spell on the wing.

Hermione took one look out the door at Draco's receding backside, and then settled back to come up with a _plan_.

[a/n: Let's just say that neither of these fine students is happy at someone deliberately not telling them a few more details.

To be fair, Snape's been laughing about them this entire year. He deserves what he gets, no doubt about it.

Leave a review? Also looking for suggestions on what Hermione might do to Snape.]


	125. Boot to the Head

Snape was having a normal, which is to say awful, day. There were always too many students who didn't even bother to do the rudiments of studying, and too few that actually showed some element of brilliance. Snape wasn't a monster, he gave credit where it was due - Goyle and Crabbe were far from stellar students, but they managed to put together English sentences and attempt to understand what the theory was. He could say less for the Gryffindors, some of whom spent their entire life cavilling about his assignments - the entire time they were goofing and gadding about, rather than sticking themselves to the sticking place and getting them done.

No, parents might wonder why Snape had little patience for most of their beloved children, but his fellow teachers never did.

And his neck was killing him...

Suddenly, there came a hasty knock on the door, that told volumes of who was behind it. It had sounded almost panicked, which meant either a Slytherin who needed Urgent Counseling (hopefully nothing toxic involved. It always ruined Snape's day when a student was permanently injured), or a Ravenclaw with a Homework Question.

"Enter," Snape drawled, not bothering to get up. It was Draco Malfoy, surprisingly enough, and Snape had barely enough time to notice that Malfoy wasn't actually slowing down, before Malfoy punched him straight in the nose.

*Crunkh*

Malfoy sent him a glare, as Snape tried to prevent blood from completely ruining the assignments (he knew the students would blame him for their poor grades, nevermind that he'd just run a running average over their last few, not give them a zero).

The door's slam echoed through his room, as Snape finished conjuring up a cloth to blot up the blood. All the assignments would have to be burned - blood was not something you let children get ahold of, not if you knew what was good for you.

The fireplace flared to life, and Snape heard Dumbledore saying, "Severus, would you mind coming to my office?" Yes, Yes Snape would mind, not the least of which because his nose was swelling to truly astronomical proportions. Black would have had a field day, Snape thought with characteristic black humor. Pity he's dead, isn't it?

While Snape would dearly love to give Albus a piece of his mind, he had to remember to behave. Snape hated behaving, but such was his life, under two masters.

Into the floo Snape stepped, and, as he stepped through, sent a furious glare at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore, of course, had neglected to mention that Harry Potter was sitting in his office. It was bad enough, Snape being injured in front of the Headmaster - who'd been through enough student spats to realize this occurred reasonably often.

Potter's green eyes, though, were big as saucers, and his mouth had dropped open.

Albus elected to sound kind (Snape hated kind, and would have rather'd Lucius' "What the bloody happened to you? Literally, I suppose"), "Severus, whatever is the matter?"

Snape, his entire vocal pattern mangled by the lack of clear nasal airways, said, "One of my Slytherins decided to inform me that he objected to me sticking my big nose into his business."

Snape hadn't thought it possible, but Harry's eyes bulged out of his face. If the cause wasn't Snape's pride and dignity being irretrievably sullied, Snape would have found it amusing.

As it was, Snape sent Potter a glare, as he stomped into his usual corner (nobody seemed to realize that Snape just didn't want anyone at his back), and Snape was gratified to see Potter at least attempt to sober up.

[a/n: Ah, abject humiliation. Sorry, Snape fans, but he kinda does deserve to get kicked around.

I liked the one suggestion I got for Hermione's revenge, but really, Snape's been pranked enough. And removing his aura of fear and wrath is going to get her killed, or as good as. So, I'll be looking for something a little more subtle... and nerve wracking.

Leave a review, or a suggestion, or something!]


	126. Day, Night, Day

Harry Potter hadn't wanted to face facts. But he needed to.

Now, in point of fact.

He couldn't keep both of them - not Ron and Hermione both. He'd seen what Black and Snape got up to, and they were relatively isolated. Just bring the two of them within, well, a house of rooms, and they would sooner break the walls than break bread together. Harry really didn't see how Dumbledore could have thought that either would manage to be in a fight without hexing the other. Dumbledore, Harry was slowly learning, was entirely too fond of second chances. But, Harry thought, in this case, it was perhaps Sirius' second chance which shouldn't have been given. Snape was a right git towards Lupin and Black, but Harry'd seen him actually look almost Human, when talking with Molly. Come to think of it, Snape was nearly always pleasant when interacting with Dumbledore... except when Dumbledore was being too lenient with Potter. Harry didn't particularly like that Snape was mean and nasty to him (and that seemed to have overflowed onto Ron and Hermione), but it was strange to think of Snape being pleasant - and Harry'd seen that, over and over again.

Harry was getting distracted again - He had _news_ , learned when Snape and Dumbledore spoke to him...

He'd always told them both, before, and just thinking about it brought a warm smile to his mind. Thousands of conspiratorial memories threatened to crowd into his head. Those _were_ good times.

But, he had to face facts - bringing Ron and Hermione together right now would be counterproductive.

To pretty much everything, really. It wouldn't fix their friendship (and Harry was starting to wonder if that was ever going to get fixed), and it wouldn't help with the War either.

So, Harry had a choice, a choice that really wasn't a choice.

He could go with Ron - solid Ron, who was currently locked at the lips with Brown, a solidly lightside witch.

Or he could go with Hermione - clever Hermione, who had actually slept with Draco Malfoy. And from the looks of it, might do so again.

When Harry sat down and thought about it, there really was no choice.

He just really, really didn't like it.

 _When Ron found out..._

Harry wouldn't be his friend, either.

[a/n: Did you see that ending coming? Harry has reasons enough to stick by Hermione, let alone his suspicions about Malfoy.

And harry hasn't even started contemplaiting not telling ron about draco. (which, um, what _would_ telling him accomplish?)

Leave reviews!]


	127. Hermione

Hermione was coming back from Prefect rounds, and was still thinking on what to do with the Problem that was Severus Snape. Or, more tractably, the challenge that Draco had set for her. She was so preoccupied that, "Hermione," said in Harry's _serious_ voice made her hop two feet in the air.

"Harry!" she said, as she fell to the ground, slightly twisting an ankle.

Harry spoke up, "Didn't mean to scare you, blazes!" he said with that effortless smile, as Hermione hopped on one foot, "But we need to talk."

Hermione, for her part, looked around for Ron, their ... well, former partner in crime. Not seeing him, Hermione gave a crisp nod, and sat down with Harry. "Spill," she demanded.

"Dumbledore wants me to treat with the goblins." Harry said, kicking back and crossing his feet in frustration, as he used his elbows as wings behind his head.* "I don't know a thing about them, Hermione!"

"Except that they often warred with Wizards." Hermione said.

"Yeah, five hundred years ago!" Harry laughed, the bitter edge to it playing discordantly across his face.

"So, you want me to find you something to read?" Hermione said.

"That'd help," Harry said, pausing, "I think we ought to ask _him_ as well."

Hermione looked up at Harry's bright green eyes, nodding thoughtfully. "It couldn't hurt. I'll pass it along."

"Why don't we try the Room this time?" Harry said firmly.

"Good thinking," Hermione said, smiling. It wasn't the same without Ron, but it wouldn't be, would it? She supposed she couldn't expect it to be the same. At least Ginny wasn't getting involved. Hermione had sworn she'd seen Harry sending covetous looks at the younger redhead. And Harry didn't deal well with people going into danger in the first place - with someone he fancied? That'd be ten times worse.

[a/n: Hermione's definition of "Heads into danger" is a bit less graphic than Harry's, even with that curse fifth year.

Leave a review! ]

*hands on head - elbows out, make wings? you see?


End file.
